Great British Bake Off - Foyle's War edition
by Biskitty
Summary: Inspired by a Tumblr post by OxfordKivrin, who speculated on the Foyle's War characters as Bake Off contestants. This is my interpretation of that. Week Ten - The Final - in which Sam and Milner take it to the wire.
1. Week One - Cake Week

A/N

So this is inspired by a Tumblr post by OxfordKivrin, who speculated on the Foyle's War characters as Bake Off contestants. This is my interpretation of that and differs slightly from the original post (I just couldn't have Andrew go out in the first round!) but I hope I have done it some justice.

I apologise for the lack Foyle in this chapter, he will appear in future chapters, if people want future chapters.

* * *

"And so that's when he taught me the secret to his Madeira cake." Sam finished her tale triumphantly, only to register the looks on the people before her. Mary had a somewhat fixed smile, with an 'interested' look Sam had tried for years to perfect. Paul had a glazed expression, like he'd stopped listening five minutes ago. Mel simply looked confused.

"Is that the uncle who's a vicar?" Sue, bless her, tried to keep the conversation flowing.

Sam poured the flour in the mixer. "Actually, most of my uncles are vicars…" she started, ready to launch into a familiar story, only to pause as she noticed the identical looks of horror on her audience's faces. She stopped herself and smiled.

"Ok, thank you Sam." Paul looked more relieved than a person had a right to when not faced with imminent death. He left Sam's station quickly.

Mary, Mel and Sue followed, with a parting "Good luck." The camera went with them, much to Sam's relief. She had no problem with the judges or Mel and Sue, but the camera made her uncomfortable – which made her babble.

"Well, done Stewart!" she berated herself, mostly under her breath. She must have been talking to them for a good 15 minutes!

"Don't worry about it." The smooth voice of Paul Milner, on the station behind her, startled Sam and she spun to look at him. Milner smiled gently at her. "They'll edit it down."

Sam closed her eyes in relief, remembering that this wasn't a live show. _Thank God._ Maybe editing would be kind to her. When she opened her eyes, Milner had an amused expression on his face. Before she could say anything, or thank him, another voice broke in to the conversation.

"Did you seriously say that all your uncles are vicars?" Andrew Foyle was leaning over her counter, an arrested look on his handsome face.

Sam wasn't sure what to make of Andrew. Yes, he was handsome, but he seemed a bit of an ass. When they had first been introduced, he had made some smartass remark about not realising that you could get such pretty engineers. Sam had pokered up, unable to tell whether he was flirting (badly) or taking the mick. It had been frosty between them ever since. Andrew seemed happy enough, flirting with Violet Davis, another contestant.

Sam turned back to her mixer, suddenly remembering that this was a competition and she was supposed to be baking a cake. "Not all of them, just most of them."

"What was that like growing up?" Sam lifted her gaze to his, surprised by this question. Although Andrew's eyebrows were raised, she could only read genuine curiosity in his face. Still, it wasn't something she wanted to go into with him.

She switched on her mixer and raised her voice to say, "Oh, it wasn't too bad," in as off-hand a manner as she could manage. Andrew didn't look convinced but left it alone. Instead, he swiped a segment of orange, stuffed it in his mouth with a grin and turned back to his own station before she could say anything. She gave a huff of annoyance and caught the eye of Christopher Foyle, diagonally across the aisle from her. He raised an eyebrow and then looked at his son, shaking his head. He then gave Sam lop-sided smile. She smiled back, reading in his expression his exasperation with his flirtatious son.

Turning back to her mixer she wondered what it was like to be competing against your family? She tried to picture her mother or father in the tent and could only laugh. The Foyles seemed to be alright, trading banter back and forth across the aisle. Mel and Sue were having a field day with them. Sam could already imagine the voice-over for the first episode, _'and in a first for Bake Off, we have a father-son team,_ no not team, _rivalry...'_ She reached across for her next ingredient.

* * *

Sam managed to stay focused on her orange and green cardamom madeira cake long enough to get it in the oven. Just as she was closing the door, she heard soft swearing. She stood up to see the camera crew sweeping over to the station in front of hers. "What's the matter?" She felt suddenly anxious, wondering if Andrew had made a mistake that she had somehow made too.

"I forgot to turn it on." He gestured to the oven, a sheepish look on his face. Sam clutched at her chest in relief, her heart pounding.

"I thought it was something really bad!" Her voice was perhaps a bit more jovial than was kind, but she really couldn't help it.

Andrew frowned. "It's pretty bad for me." Sam couldn't tell if he was really annoyed or just putting it on.

"Well yes, but I thought it was more like you'd forgotten the sugar or something." Andrew's face took on a look of complete horror and the bottom of Sam's stomach dropped out. Then he laughed. Sam threw her orange rind at him, which he dodged with ease, and resolved to ignore him from now on. It was only as she was weighing out her icing sugar that she noticed the camera crew moving off and realised they'd filmed the whole exchange. That knowledge left her felling odd, somehow exposed.

* * *

Judging had to worst experience of her life. Her mouth was dry, and her hands were sweaty, as Mary took a delicate bite of her cake. _Please like it, please like it_ was the only thing that ran through her head. "Texture's good," Paul spoke around his mouthful of cake, and Sam had to stop herself from telling him off. _This man is judging your cake, don't turn into your mother!_ Mary made noises of agreement, too polite to speak with food in her mouth. "Flavour's interesting, that cardamom really works." Paul's voice rose at the end, but Sam wasn't sure if it was surprise or intrigue or something else.

"I really like it. A nice, light bake, delicate flavour. I would never think of adding cardamom, but it works so well." Mary was easier to read, smiling and enthusiastic.

Paul was nodding along, which had to be a good sign, right? "A very good bake. Well done Sam." He gave a final nod, a moved on.

Sue took two extra pieces of cake as she left. "Some for the road" she said with a wink. When they had all moved on, Sam practically melted onto the worktop in relief. _Thank God that's over!_

"Well done." Andrew's voice was low, but the tone was sincere, and he was smiling when she looked at him. In her relief she beamed back. Andrew seemed slightly taken aback, before his smile grew into a grin.

 _A frosted walnut cake. With three layers, a meringue topping and caramelised walnuts._ Sam knew the technical was going to be hard, but she hadn't expected the recipe to quite so… sparse. Looking around, she was astonished and alarmed to see that the others had started already. She started randomly grabbing ingredients and got to work.

The atmosphere during the technical bake was very different to the signature, so much more tension-filled. Sam tried not to let it affect her, but she could feel herself becoming more stressed as the time passed. There was flour on her cheek, butter on her jeans and her second lot of caramel had just burnt. The camera crew had a sixth sense for any kind of baking crisis and had swooped over before she'd had a chance to hide the evidence. Mel was there to offer a sympathetic shoulder, and Sam did her best to laugh it off.

* * *

The cake she produced was almost enough to make her cry – lopsided, the meringue not set, and the caramel was still burnt. She came last and did her best to take it with good grace. Andrew, sat next to her, nudged her with his shoulder when he came 11th. She glanced at him to receive a sympathetic smile in return. She was fairly certain her return smile was a very poor effort. At least it was all over for the day.

Only it wasn't of course. They wanted to film everyone's reaction to the judging. Sam managed to say something along the lines of 'must try harder', a remembered notation from her school report with regards to her art lessons. Then finally she was allowed to escape to the hotel. There were arrangements for them all to meet for dinner, but she had a good hour to herself before she needed to get ready. She decided to take a walk to clear her head.

 _Maybe Mother was right, maybe I'm really not that great a baker._ It was a depressing thought. She had been so excited when she applied to Bake Off only for her mother to point out that they only took the most extraordinary. Which clearly Sam was not. When she had got the acceptance, she had nearly jumped in the car to drive home, just so she could wave it in her mother's face. But now it seemed as if Mother was right, and Sam really wasn't good enough.

"Hey, Sam, wait up." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Andrew Foyle was the last person she wanted to talk to right now. Still, she had been raised to be polite, and so she turned around. She couldn't quite manage a smile however. Andrew jogged the last few yards towards her before slowing down. He wasn't smiling either. "Are you alright? You seemed a bit down when we left the tent?"

He gestured for her to keep walking and fell into step beside her. She wondered what his motive was in following her. "I suppose I was just disappointed to come last." She tried to sound unconcerned but feared that she was a poor actress.

"You'll be alright." Andrew sounded absolutely certain. Sam looked at him but he was looking at the hotel gardens, walking with his hands in his pockets. "Your cake this morning was a cracker, and I'm sure your Showstopper will be just as good." He looked at her then, the corner of his mouth turning up. "There's plenty of other people who messed up more than you, including me." He gave a small shrug as she went to reassure him. "I always let myself down in the execution. Anyway, there's no need to go around looking like it's the end of the world."

She felt oddly cheered by this, words of encouragement from an almost complete stranger.

"Thank you, Andrew. That's very kind." She looked at him, trying to guage how he would take advice. He seemed pleasant enough, but you couldn't always tell. "You know, you would have a lot better chance if you took things more seriously."

Andrew looked chagrined. "That's what my dad says. He thinks I think everything's a big joke. But, really, it's just a baking competition – it's not life or death."

Sam frowned. "Don't you want to win?" He shrugged. "Why come here at all if you don't want to win?" She was confused now. It seemed like a lot of effort to go to, to then not really bother with it.

"I'm afraid I have moments of striving for something and then…" he tailed off.

"You let yourself down in the execution," Sam finished for him. He laughed.

Andrew suddenly waved to someone. Sam followed his gaze to see Violet Davis walking towards them. She suddenly put two and two together to realise that Andrew hadn't followed her, he'd been coming out here to meet Violet. She felt slightly put out by this, but then told herself she was being silly. Just because he hadn't deliberately sought her out, didn't mean Andrew hadn't meant what he said.

"I'll, er, leave you to it," she said, gesturing vaguely in Violet's direction. Andrew grinned at her and then headed over to Violet. Sam shook her head and headed into the hotel. It was probably lucky that there weren't that many women in this year's competition, otherwise Andrew Foyle would be a very busy man! She went to get changed, feeling much happier than she had half an hour earlier.

* * *

She felt much more confident with the Showstopper challenge of Black Forest Gâteau. Since chocolate was her favourite substance on earth, Sam had chosen to do a quadruple chocolate Black Forest Gâteau, with four layers, cherry jam, chocolate buttercream, chocolate mirror glaze and chocolate decoration. She may have overreached herself this time.

Still, she had so much to do it kept her from being distracted by Andrew at the station in front of her. Surely such tight jeans should be illegal? Especially when doing so much bending and reaching?

"What have you done to upset Violet?" Milner sounded amused. Sam glanced at the pretty blonde across the aisle and was taken aback at the venom in her gaze. She snapped her head back round.

"I have absolutely no idea!" She racked her brains, trying to think of a moment she'd even talked to Violet, but came up empty. "I don't believe we've even spoken, so even _I_ would have found it difficult to my foot in it."

Milner lowered his eyes and smiled a somewhat secretive smile. "I think it's more about who you _have_ been speaking to." Sam stared at him, confused. He glanced up, saw her expression and then nodded past her. She looked over her shoulder, only to see Andrew bending over to look in his oven. _Oh, for Pete's sake!_ She looked away quickly. Then Milner's meaning struck her.

"You mean, she's jealous?" She couldn't help but sound incredulous. Milner nodded, an amused expression on his face. Sam shook her head. "Ridiculous!" She turned back towards her station. "I'm just here to bake cakes."

* * *

Sam was more than please with her final creation. It looked almost exactly how she hoped it would. Paul and Mary were very complimentary, calling it 'mouth-watering'. She couldn't help but feel that she had done enough to scrape through to the next round. Andrew's Black Forest Gâteau had turned out alright too, so maybe he would make it through too. Violet had had a disaster though, with her sponges being dry and over-baked. She was glad to get out of the tent while the judges made their decision.

"I'm glad that's over." Andrew had materialised beside her as she took her cup of tea over to the benches where the rest were waiting. "Far too stressful." He grinned at her. _Ridiculously attractive._ She blushed slightly and turned her face away, annoyed at herself. "You did fabulously though." He nudged her shoulder with his, gently enough not to jostle her tea, but firm enough for her to know it was deliberate. "Just like I said you would."

"Yes, thank you for that. You really cheered me up." Sam turned towards him as she spoke, using it as an opportunity to step slightly further away from him.

"It was the truth." His grin became something softer. She looked away, aware that she was blushing again. _He's a practiced flirt, it doesn't mean anything._ She caught a glimpse of Violet watching them. The other woman looked more upset than angry, and Sam suddenly felt frustrated with Andrew, playing with Violet's affections like that.

"Maybe you should go and see if Violet needs cheering up. Her showstopper didn't go that well." She gave Andrew a pointed look, and to his credit, he looked abashed.

"We, er," he started, then stopped. He took a sip of his tea, wincing at the heat. "I may have…"

"Led her on?" Sam was cross now, annoyed on the other woman's behalf.

Andrew looked properly ashamed now. "It was just flirting."

"Not for her." Sam gestured at Violet with her teacup. "You owe her an apology." She suddenly realised she was lecturing him, when she barely knew him. _Never stopped you before._ "Or something."

Andrew didn't seem to take offense at her words, just nodded. "Yes, I suppose I do." He suddenly squared his shoulders. "You're right." He walked with purpose towards Violet, leaving Sam staring after him in bemusement.

* * *

Sam couldn't believe it was over. It was over, and she had made it. She wanted to shout it to the sky, she wanted to tell everyone, but she couldn't. The only people she was allowed to tell were her parents, and she wasn't even sure they would be interested. She looked around, to see the other contestants on the phone to their loved ones, except for Violet, who was facing the camera while trying to hold in tears. Sam felt a twinge of sympathy, it must be awful to go out in the first round.

Still, she had to tell someone that she's got through, or she'd burst!

"Hi Dad, it's me!" Her voice was ringing with excitement.

" _Samantha?"_

"Yes, Dad." _Well, really, who else calls him 'Dad'?_ "I just thought I'd call to say I've made it."

" _Made it where?"_

Sam rolled her eyes, of course her parents hadn't remembered. "I've made it past the first round of Bake Off." She could feel her enthusiasm waning.

" _Really? That's excellent news! Well done, Samantha."_

Sam was astonished. Her parents rarely showed enthusiasm, particularly when it came to her doings, outside of academia, that is. "Thank you, Dad. Um, they really liked my quadruple chocolate Black Forest Gâteau."

" _You will have to thank Uncle Aubrey next time you see him."_

"I can't do that until they broadcast the show, but I will certainly thank him, and everybody else who's helped me." Sam felt suddenly impatient. Why couldn't her parents be like other parents, and just be proud of her?

" _I suppose that means you will be going back for another week?"_

"Yes." Sam smiled to herself. "Yes, I suppose I am."

She caught the eye of Andrew, who waved. Another week of him. She didn't know whether she was pleased or resigned. Both probably.

* * *

A/N

Any good? Want any more?


	2. Week Two - Biscuit Week

A/N - so week 2 is Biscuit Week and the star is Paul Milner. Please enjoy

* * *

"I just don't know how you do it Milner." Paul looked up to see that Sam had paused at the end of his bench. She looked frazzled, but then Sam always looked frazzled. Something about her hair. She would turn up to the tent with her hair neatly straightened and then within half an hour, she would have screwed it back in a knot with frizzy strands escaping.

"Do what Sam?" Paul had plenty of time for Sam, she was kind and friendly, even if she did sometimes talk too much.

Sam gestured to his biscotti. "Make them look so perfect! They look professional, like a machine made them – all the same size and shape." She looked back at her own bench. "Mine, on the other hand…"

Paul smiled. "Yours are fine. They look pretty even to me."

"Yes, well, pretty even and fine aren't good enough for Paul Hollywood and Mary Berry." Sam threw her hands out in a kind of 'what can you do' gesture and in the process, scattered coconut everywhere. "Oh drat!" She crouched down, attempting to tidy it up.

"Sam, leave it, they'll clean it later. You need to sort your biscotti out." Paul bent down to grasp Sam's arm, to get her to stand back up. She did so, reluctantly it was clear.

As she stood, Paul caught sight of Andrew Foyle over her shoulder, watching her with an unreadable expression on his face. When he caught Paul's eye, Andrew looked away quickly, turning back to his own biscotti.

The camera crew had been on hand to catch the whole exchange. Paul wasn't sure how they did it, but as soon as any drama started, the camera was there.

"I think you're going to be Star Baker this week." Sam's voice was full of conviction.

Paul laughed. "I think it's a bit early to be saying that Sam, we're only on the signature bake."

"Yes, well, these are so perfect, you're bound to win the whole thing." Sam moved as she talked, back the support team member who was holding more coconut.

"I just measure them out Sam." That was all it was really, measuring and weighing. It was nice, reliable. Did what it was supposed to do.

"Well, you're jolly good at it Milner, that's all I can say." She went back to her own bench, seemingly oblivious of the fact that Andrew was watching her again.

It amused him, the fact that Sam called him Milner, like they were in public school. She said it was to distinguish him from Paul Hollywood. By the end of the first weekend, the rest had caught onto the habit and so 'Milner' he was. Even Mel and Sue used it. Still, it was in keeping with the middle-class Britishness of Bake Off.

"She's right, you know." He looked up to meet the smiling face of Edie. Edith Ashford. He'd been so surprised to see her here, after all these years. The camera crew had had a field day, _childhood friends reunited over pies and pastry_. They'd hardly been left alone to catch up, but they'd exchanged telephone numbers and talked during the week. The crew seemed slightly less interested in them this week. _Bigger fish to fry._

"It's nothing special Edie, just biscotti." He smiled back at her.

She was amused. "Always so humble."

He ducked his head, uncertain how to take her gentle teasing. Jane had never teased him.

When he didn't respond, Edie turned back to her own biscotti. Paul sighed. He like Edie, always had, but after Jane… _Just concentrate on the biscotti Milner._

* * *

"Excellent biscotti, well done." Paul looked at the hand held out before him in astonishment, before grasping it and receiving a firm 'Hollywood handshake'. As the group moved away, he caught Edie's eye.

 _Congratulations_ she mouthed, eyebrows raised. He smiled at her, ridiculously pleased. _It's just biscotti_ he tried to tell himself, but it didn't stop the bubble of pleasure from rising in his chest.

The judging finished quickly after that and they retired to have lunch, before tackling the fiendish technical challenge in the afternoon. Edie walked with him to lunch, chatting about her brother Martin, who Paul had known at school. In front of them, Andrew walked with Sam, listening intently to whatever she was talking about, which involved a number of enthusiastic hand gestures. Andrew laughed at something Sam said, and she grinned at him.

"Oh, to be young." Edie sighed. He looked down at her, but she was watching Sam and Andrew. "They make a nice pair."

"Hmm, maybe." She looked at him then, a sidelong glance that he couldn't quite interpret. He felt the need to explain. "He's such a flirt."

Edie smiled. "She can handle him." Suddenly she looped her arm through his, squeezing his bicep. The bottom dropped out of his stomach. "Come one, before they eat everything." He went with her, somewhat in a daze.

* * *

 _One and a quarter hours to make Florentines._ "I've never even heard of them," he confessed to the camera. "I wonder what they are supposed to look like?"

If he was honest, he hated the technical part of the competition. Too many uncertainties, no preparation – not how he liked to do things at all. Still, all he could do was follow the recipe.

He looked around to see what the others were doing. Christopher Foyle was reading the instructions with a look of intense concentration. His son was also reading the instructions, his lips moving as if he struggled to make sense of what he was reading. Sam was clutching at her hair as she read. Edie, however, was carefully sorting her ingredients.

"Do you know what you're doing?" he asked, almost incredulous. She threw him a smile over her shoulder.

"No, but I might as well get started." This seemed like sound advice, so he made a start himself.

It was slow going, checking and double checking the recipe to make sure he wasn't missing anything out; there were just so many parts to it – mixed nuts (which they had to chop themselves), candied cherries (which they had to caramelise themselves) as well as the biscuit mix. His hands were shaking as he tried to score the zig-zag pattern onto the melted chocolate.

"Bakers, you have one minute left." His heart was beating harder than it had during any of his tours. He hurried to put his biscuits on his plate.

"Bakers, your time is up!" _Oh, thank God!_ "Please bring your plates to the gingham altar."

He made his way to the front, alongside Andrew who muttered, "Worst thing I've ever made. Looks like something a dog threw up." Paul snorted, then laughed. It wasn't that funny, but it helped to relieve the tension. Andrew laughed to, a breathy half chuckle.

"I think they're all pretty bad." Paul murmured back. "What an awful challenge."

It was a sad looking lot of biscuits on the table in front of them, which made Paul feel better about his own contribution. It was hard to tell which was the worst of a very bad set. It'd probably come down to taste or texture.

"Maybe they'll fail all of us and start over?" Sam sounded less than her usual upbeat self.

"They can't fail us, it's not school." Andrew nudged her with his shoulder.

"But it is a test." Sam sighed, shoulders slumping. "I hate tests."

Paul smiled at Sam, and gestured for her to leave. "It'll be alright Sam." Easier to sound optimistic than to feel it.

* * *

Fourth wasn't too bad, Paul thought, as he sat down to dinner. Fourth out of eleven wasn't too bad at all. Christopher had got first, of course. It had all been in the detail and Christopher Foyle didn't seem like someone to overlook the detail. Sam had come ninth, which was _'a definite improvement on last.'_ Andrew had been just behind in tenth, which he didn't seemed bothered about, but then he didn't seem bothered by much.

Edie had come second, much to her surprise. "I had no idea what I was doing," she confessed, sitting next to him. "I just tried for the best."

Paul smiled. "You're a very good baker, you deserved it." She smiled back, and he was suddenly tongue-tied. It had never been this hard to talk to women, but first the army and then Jane… He just never knew what to say. That's why he liked talking with Sam, she did all the work. Somehow, he found something to say and dinner wasn't quite as stilted as lunch had been. Slowly, he relaxed and warmed to the task, talking about the past and people they'd known.

"And Jane? How is she?" He should have seen it coming, really. Edie had known Jane, had been at school with Jane too, so of course she would ask. He looked down at his hands, clenched on his lap.

"Jane and I… we're not together anymore." It was still difficult to say. He just hated sharing personal information with anyone. A quick glance round showed him that they were alone – the others must have left while Edie and he had been talking. "She, um, she left."

Edie laid a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry Paul. That must have hurt you." He managed a small smile to acknowledge her comment. "Although," Edie continued, "I always thought she was wrong for you." He looked at her, startled. "Well, I did! I never knew why you took up with her in the first place."

His smile became a bit more genuine then. "She was different then." He shrugged. "Or I was."

"Well," she took a deep breath, "You're better off without her." That was definitely true, he knew that now, now that he'd got over the sting of being rejected. "She would never have let you do this for starters!"

"No, she never did much like me baking." Hadn't thought it very manly of him, baking little cupcakes and fancy biscuits.

"She was a fool." Edie placed her hand over his. He caught his breath. "I'm glad you're not with her. And I'm glad you did Bake Off. Now we have this chance, to… to…" She seemed to lose her momentum and withdrew her hand, blushing slightly. He didn't mind.

"I'm glad too."

* * *

36 biscuits, inside a biscuit box, both different kinds of biscuits. In four hours.

"Why did I sign up for this?" Sam's wail could be heard across the tent. Paul couldn't help but smile, as he got out his templates, cutting tools, ruler and sheet with all the timings on. They'd had all week to prepare for this and he had got it down to a fine art. No doubt Sam had practiced a lot too, but in the heat of the moment, she seemed to be unravelling. Paul decided to leave Andrew to deal with it, he had enough to do.

He mixed, and rolled and cut and baked, and rolled and cut and baked some more. Then he made icing, so that he could 'glue' the box together.

"This challenge is right up your street, isn't it?" Mel had appeared at his elbow. "Everything has to be so precise and identical."

"I do like things to be precise." He carefully piped icing along one edge of the box, before sticking it to another piece.

"Can I help?" He couldn't quite hide his horrified reaction to that. Both Mel and Sue were notorious for 'helping'.

"I'm okay, thank you." He caught the amused smile Mel was giving him and continued, "I'm afraid I like to do everything myself."

"I quite understand. Must come from being in the army." _Oh God, it's the 'find-out-about-his-background' bit._ He'd hoped to avoid this, but logically he'd known it was going to happen. He just wished it hadn't happened when he was doing a fiddly bit.

He piped icing onto another section of the box. "I think it was probably part of the reason why I joined the army in the first place. I like everything in order."

Mel tilted her head. "But you left two years ago?"

His hands were shaking now, so Paul abandoned any attempts to further construct his box. "Yes, I was invalided out. Lost part of my leg." He tapped his left thigh.

Her face instantly became sympathetic, but not the false sympathy he'd seen on many people's faces – this seemed genuine. "It must have been a difficult time?"

He was surprised by the question. "Yes." He realised that seemed abrupt, and tried to carry on. "Yes, it was."

"Is that when you started baking?" She was offering him a way out, he realised. The producers probably had a set of questions the presenters were meant to ask, but Mel was letting him off.

"Well," He picked up the icing bag again, even though his hands were still shaking. "I had dabbled a bit before, but yes, baking was a big help to me during that time."

Mel patted his arm. "You're doing an excellent job, I'll leave you to it."

"Thanks." He was relieved to see the camera crew go with her. He checked his watch to see how much time hand been lost and willed his hands to stop shaking.

* * *

"Milner! There are 20 minutes left. You can't just stand there doing nothing!" Sue sounded near hysterical as she appeared at Paul's side, hands waving wildly. The corner of his mouth turned up – it was almost impossible not to smile around either Mel of Sue.

"I have a dilemma." He gestured to the biscuits, waiting on the bench. "I can decorate them the way I planned, but I probably won't get them all done." Sue looked suitably concerned for the camera that had inevitably followed. "Or I can make them look all the same, but they won't be as elaborate."

Sue peered around him to look at his biscuit design, sketched onto a piece of scrap paper. She did this without moving from his left side, which meant she pressed against his back, placing a hand on his right hip to steady herself. His caught and held his breath, stiffening under her touch. He had known that the presenters were quite 'handsy', but knowing and experiencing were two different things. He hadn't been touched as much in the last two years as he had been in the last two weekends. If it wasn't Mel or Sue, then it was Edie. _Suck it up Milner! It's alright, no-one's going to hurt you._

"I suggest you make a decision quickly." Sue straightened back up. "Because…" She took a deep breath, which was his only warning, "BAKERS! YOU HAVE 15 MINUTES!" Paul was grateful he'd managed to clap his hands over his ears, Sue could bellow better than a sergeant major. "Sorry," she patted his arm, "probably should have warned you before doing that."

He shook his head. "No harm done." He picked up his piping bag.

"You've made a decision then?" she asked.

"I'd rather they all looked the same, even if they don't quite look how I wanted." He began to carefully pipe his design onto the biscuit in front of him.

"I'll leave you to it then." He never thought he'd ever think of the phrase 'scampered away' in connection to a grown woman, but Bake Off was turning out to disprove many fondly held beliefs.

* * *

Star Baker. He felt quite numb. He'd been given Star Baker. Andrew Foyle jostled his right shoulder and Edie clasped his left arm. He turned to her and she grinned at him. _I knew it_ she mouthed at him. He was so shocked, he barely paid attention to the elimination of Eric Rivers, deemed too set in his ways to continue.

There was a sudden flurry of movement, everyone hugging or thumping each other on the back, congratulating him or commiserating with Eric. It was almost overwhelming, but it felt good – to be a part of this, to be wanted and liked, to have achieved something with his baking. He grinned, a bubble of happiness rising in his chest. He felt buoyant and light, almost dizzy. He was starting to shake.

"Well done you." Edie hugged him, unrestrained as always. He accepted the hug, even hugged her back. She was a small, but solid anchor in the chaos and he clung to that, forcing his breathing to slow down. _She smells nice._ Abruptly he stepped back, cheeks warm. Edie didn't seem to notice, but continued to grin at him. "How about we go and celebrate?"

"I quite agree!" Sam popped up beside them. "Milner, you really need to teach me how to make everything look so perfect."

Paul laughed. "It's just the way they turn out Sam."

Andrew appeared, wrapping an arm around Sam's shoulders and giving her a squeeze. "Poor old Sam! Destined to always have rustic looking biscuits." Sam gave him a mock glare and shrugged his arm off. "Come on," he nodded to the tent flaps where the others were exiting, "Let me buy you a drink and you can tell me all about it."

Paul and Edie followed behind, only to be caught by the camera crew. "Milner. We need a piece to camera." Edie caught his hand and gave it a squeeze.

"I'll see you in a bit." He watched her walk away for a moment, before turning back to the crew. The camera operator had a knowing smile and the boom operator gave him a wink. Paul cleared his throat, uncomfortably aware that he was probably blushing. He managed to ramble on for a few minutes about how excited he was to be Star Baker, _not hard when it's the truth_ , before they let him go. He headed in the direction Edie had taken. Time to celebrate.

* * *

A/N

I hope I did Milner justice! No bin moment I'm afraid, at least not this week, but maybe in the weeks to come.

Next week is bread week and a certain Christopher Foyle will be taking centre stage...


	3. Week Three - Bread Week

A/N

So it's bread week, starring none other than Christopher Foyle - who was a pain in the ass to write. Co-starring Andrew Foyle, who, as usual, kept butting in.

* * *

"Oh, Mr Foyle! Sir! I'm most dreadfully sorry!" Christopher mentally counted to ten even as he began to brush the flour off the front of his shirt. Sam was clutching her now empty flour jar to her chest, a horrified expression on her face. She stretched out a hand before snatching it back – an abortive attempt to help perhaps.

"It's alright." He shook out his apron, which, fortunately, had been on the receiving end of most of the flour. "No harm done." Not strictly true, he would be shedding flour for hours now, but there was no point in getting angry with Sam. It would be too much like getting angry with a puppy, mean and ultimately pointless. Even now she looked stricken. "I thought I told you to call me Christopher." He gave up on removing any more flour and tried to remember what he had been doing before he had collided with the whirlwind that was Sam Stewart.

"Yes, you did Sir. I mean… Christopher." Sam always seemed a little nervous around him, although not with anyone else. Andrew said it was because she respected him and wanted to impress him. Christopher was certain his son was trying to wind him up. "I really am sorry."

Christopher felt himself softening towards Sam. "No harm done," he repeated. He smiled at her to show that he meant it, what Andrew would call his crooked smile. Sam smiled back, but it was a lame attempt at a Sam Stewart smile, not even close to the blinding, mega-kilowatt smile that lit up her whole face. Christopher could feel his own smile sliding off his face, morphing into a frown. It was clear that he wasn't going to make anything better right now, and they were in the middle of, well actually the beginning of, a competition.

"Shouldn't you…" he gestured to the jar she was still hugging.

Sam looked down at the jar as if she had completely forgotten its existence. "Oh! Yes, of course." She spun around and headed for the stores with none of the energy that had caused her to careen into him. Christopher frowned after her, before turning back to his bench.

He caught Andrew, at the bench in front of him, gazing after Sam with a concerned expression. Christopher shook his head. He had no idea what was going actually going on between his son and Sam – Andrew was, unusually, keeping things fairly close to his chest. All Christopher knew was that Andrew had managed to wrangle Sam's phone number from her last weekend. All that week, whenever Christopher had rung or tried to ring Andrew, he had been talking to Sam. Or texting her. Or messaging her on some social media app. Still, as long as they were both happy, he wasn't going to interfere.

Even as Christopher thought this, Andrew decided to head off to the back of the tent where Sam was. _Good._ Maybe he would be able to cheer her up. And keep her from causing anymore chaos.

* * *

Bread was one of the first things he'd learnt to bake. Bread was simple yet challenging, easy to make but difficult to master. Once he'd managed to make basic loaves, he'd gone a little wild with variations. Andrew, still quite young, had once complained, _why couldn't they just have sliced white bread like everyone else_? Christopher had taken his small son by the hand, led him to the kitchen and taught him how to make soda bread, sparking a love of baking in son that matched his own.

Even when Andrew had grown, and they didn't always see eye-to-eye, they'd always had baking in common. In fact, it had been Andrew that had entered Christopher into Bake Off at the same time as himself. _A joke,_ he had said. Maybe it had started that way, but Christopher believed in doing a job properly once he'd started. Unlike his son, who still seemed to be treating the whole thing as a bit of a joke. Still, he'd experienced a fond sense of nostalgia when he'd realised that Andrew too was making soda bread. As he mixed in his ingredients, he seemed to see small hands beneath his in the bowl, seemed to hear a childish voice asking _what next Dad?_

He was knocked out of his reverie just as he placed his shaped bread on his baking tray, with the sudden appearance of a finger that prodded a deep indent to the otherwise round loaf. "Andrew!" he glared at his son, who was grinning unrepentantly.

"Oh Dad! You just looked so serious for a minute there." Christopher carefully reshaped his bread, smoothing out the dent left by his troublesome son. "Thought you might be getting misty-eyed over the soda bread."

"Haven't you got better things to be doing?" He was snappish, shaken out of an emotional moment he was now aware had been caught on camera.

Andrew's grin became softer, affectionate. "Nope, I'm all done. You taught me well."

Christopher sniffed. "We see at the judging."

* * *

"What can I say?" Paul stood with his hands on his hips, looking at Mary who was carefully chewing her small piece of bread. Christopher waited patiently, head tilted, one eyebrow slightly raised. "That's fantastic." Christopher offered a polite smile, inwardly relieved. "A perfect example of soda bread."

Mary nodded in agreement. "The garlic and pesto just work so well." She gestured to the loaf. "I was worried that the colour meant that the crust would be tough, but it's not." Christopher nodded.

Paul held out his hand, and Christopher shook it firmly. "Well done, Christopher." Christopher acknowledged the further congratulations of Mary, Sue and Mel with a dignified nod. They walked away to their next victim, the camera crew trailing behind and Christopher allowed a small smile to grace his lips as he looked down at his loaf.

"See Dad, I told you." Christopher rolled his eyes at the sound of his son's overly chipper voice. "The soda bread won the day." Andrew appeared in front of him, walking backwards. "For you and me both." He looked ridiculously pleased with himself.

"It's only round one, Andrew, no need to get ahead of yourself." Andrew scoffed, and turned around to walk beside him.

"Come on Dad, celebrate a little. You got a Hollywood Handshake." Christopher couldn't help his lips twitching. "Oh, I know, you don't like him that much, but still he is a master baker and he thought you were pretty good! That has to count for something?"

Christopher nodded. "Suppose it does."

"Oh, you're hopeless!" Andrew threw up his hands in disgust. "Anyone else would be shouting it from the rooftops, but not Detective Chief Superintendent Foyle."

"Retired." He had always derived a perverse sense of amusement from teasing Andrew. Andrew had so much of Rosalind in him, all emotion and activity. Christopher remembered the bewilderment he'd felt, being left to take charge of this little boy who was so dissimilar from himself – yet they had made it work, bantering back and forth, each giving as good as he got.

Andrew shook his head, annoyed. "Retired. How could I forget?"

The corner of Christopher's mouth twitched upwards and he chewed it to hide his smile.

"Mr Foyle, sir!" They both turned to see Sam jogging up behind them. Christopher was amused to see Andrew's face light up. "Well done!" Sam was all sincerity, and Christopher wondered if she ever actually remembered that this was supposed to be a competition with them on opposing sides. She was always so pleased for everyone's achievements.

"What about me?" Andrew had puffed up a little, squaring his shoulders. Sam spared him a look.

"Well, you did very well too." Her response was a concession to Andrew's pride and it was clear his son knew it, deflating when she didn't gush over him as his previous companions would have. Christopher decided, then and there, that he liked Sam, very much.

* * *

 _4 identical baguettes in two and half hours._ If he'd been a more demonstrative man, Christopher might have reacted much like his son, who did a fist-pump as Sue announced the technical challenge. Of course, this meant the camera crew zoomed in on him straight away. From his position across the aisle, Christopher, collecting his ingredients, could hear every word Andrew said.

"One summer, Dad and I spent a holiday in France with this family and they taught us both to make baguettes from scratch. This couldn't be a better technical challenge for bread week." Christopher shook his head. Listening to his son, you would think they had already won. _Always did try to run before he could walk._

"So, really, it's a competition between you and your father?" Christopher carefully kept his face neutral, certain that the angle of the camera had shifted to include him in the background of Andrew's shot.

"It's always a competition between me and Dad. It's just this time there are a few other people here as well." Christopher could hear Sam scoff from the bench in front of him.

"The rest of us are just to add background variety I suppose." Milner's voice was dry. Christopher half turned, and gave a _what can you do_ shrug. Milner smiled back and got on with mixing his dough.

"Christopher." In the short time that he'd had his back turned, Mel and the camera crew had moved over to his bench. "Your son was telling us about your holiday learning how to make baguettes…" She let her voice trail off, waiting for him to fill in the blanks.

"Well, it wasn't the main purpose of the holiday." He refused to play ball.

"But, you did learn how to make them to a professional standard?" It was true that the family they'd stayed with had sold his baguettes in the shop.

He shrugged. "I'm not sure you could call them professional." Mel frowned, giving him a look that said _work with me here._ He sighed. "But I did practice them a lot, as did Andrew."

He was rewarded with a smile through only slightly gritted teeth. "How old would Andrew have been?"

He had never liked talking about himself, but there were some subjects that were more painful than others. Still, he knew what he'd signed up for. Best to do it on his terms, direct the conversation himself. "Well, um, it was not long after his mother died, so he would have been 8 or 9."

Mel's face softened with sympathy and Christopher felt a similar softening in himself. It wasn't her fault really, she was just doing her job. "It must have been important for you to do something together at such a time."

"Yes." He sounded curt, he knew, but Rosalind was just so difficult to talk about, even now.

"Did it help you come closer together, do you think? Baking?" Mel was carefully steering a course between finding out about him, and by extension Andrew, without trying to lay everything bare. He had always liked Bake Off for that. He hated those documentaries or competition shows that tried to wring every last tear from their participants.

He thought about her question. "It was something to do." He couldn't explain it further. At the time he'd needed to do something, and Andrew loved cake, so Christopher had learnt to bake. The Andrew had learnt to bake, because it had kept him out of trouble. _Well, for a while at least._

Mel touched his arm gently. "Sometimes you need to keep busy." He gave a brief nod. "And now, you're rivals?" Her voice lifted, clearly, she was trying to switch the mood of the conversation.

"Yes. Apparently, it's just us two and everyone else is just background decoration." He heard Milner snort a laugh behind him, and his lips twitched. Mel also smiled.

"He's very confident." Christopher couldn't work out from her tone whether she was impressed by Andrew's confidence or not. She would be a difficult witness, she kept a lot to herself.

"He often is." He poured his dough into the square tub he'd carefully oiled earlier. "Sometimes with good reason."

Mel grinned. "We'll see how it works out for him today." The camera crew took that as their cue to leave but Mel lingered. "Christopher. I know you don't really like these bits we do, about you and your family, but this is a tv show." He met her eyes squarely. "Believe me, I don't usually go around asking really personal questions of people of only met a couple of times before." He nodded. "Please. Just… give me a little, and then we'll leave you alone."

He nodded again. "Alright."

She patted his arm. "Thank you." She then jerked her head in Andrew's direction. "He gives them plenty to work with, so you just need to play off that really. The audience with love the banter, so the director will focus on that." She really was just trying to her job, no need for him to make it unnecessarily difficult for everyone involved.

"Understood." She moved away, and he popped his dough into the proving drawer.

"It's very invasive." Milner's voice was quiet, almost impossible to hear over the noise of the other bakers. "Having the camera there. If it was just Mel and Sue, I think it would be ok, but with the camera…" Christopher didn't think it would be ok even with just Mel and Sue, but Milner was right, the camera made it so much worse. "Still, I think she right. If you keep up the banter with Andrew, they won't bother with anything else."

"Well…" Christopher titled his head to the side. "Yes, but for how long?" For a moment he wasn't sure Milner understood what he meant, but then the taller man smiled.

"If he took it seriously, he could go far."

"Andrew hasn't taken anything seriously for years." It was a disappointing truth, but aside from his work in the RAF, Andrew really didn't try hard at anything.

Milner's smile turned sly. "He seems to be taking Sam seriously."

Christopher scoffed. "I think she's the one not taking him seriously." He checked that Sam wasn't listening, but she seemed to be trying to move her dough from her mixer to her tub. _It really shouldn't look like that._ "Do him some good."

"It can be hard." Christopher glance back at Milner, who looked contemplative. "A job like his." Christopher remembered then that Milner had been in the army up until two years ago. "It's so serious, so intense, there doesn't seem room for anything else."

"True." Christopher knew that Andrew had suffered in his work. His sensitive son wasn't really cut out for the career he'd chosen, but Andrew had always had tunnel-vision about flying and Christopher had been unable to persuade him to contemplate any other work. "You managed it though?"

The corner of Milner's mouth twisted humourlessly. "Not unscathed."

"No." Christopher looked back at his son, leaning against his counter and chatting to Sam, who was trying to pick dough off of her fingers. His beautiful son. And his inner demons. Not all scars were on the outside. "I don't think anyone comes away unscathed."

* * *

 _Father, son, one and two. Not bad._ Christopher sipped his whisky at the bar of the hotel in peaceful contemplation. Andrew's and his baguettes had turned out perfectly, almost identical. Christopher had squeaked the win due to better colour, Andrew, impatient as always, having taken his out a moment or two too early. Still, it was nice to know the boy hadn't forgotten everything he'd learnt.

He was alone, more or less, in the bar. Most of the other contestants had gone to bed, exhausted after the day's challenges. Bread week wasn't for everyone. Andrew, he believed, was somewhere with Sam, who had had an up and down day. Her Mexican bread had been fine, but she had come last in the technical. It would be criminal if she was to go out this week, she was far too good to go this early.

Milner, too, had had a bad technical, coming second to last, something that had clearly annoyed the quiet man. _Perfectionist._ Good in for consistency but tough when it came to trying something new.

He glanced up at the sound of voices. Sam and Andrew had walked into the bar. They didn't seem to spot him, in his darkened corner, and sat at the bar. Their low voices carried across the bar.

"You'll be alright Sam. You'll pull it out the bag tomorrow, you always do."

"Yes, but how often can I do that? I'm just hopeless at the technical challenges."

Andrew rubbed Sam's shoulder comfortingly. "There's bound to be a technical soon that you'll ace."

Sam laughed, but didn't comment. "Sam, you're good enough to win this thing."

She turned to him. "Well, what about you?" Andrew withdrew his hand and shrugged. "Andrew, you're doing alright this week, but…"

"Don't worry about me Sam, I'll muddle along."

Sam smacked the bar counter with the flat of her hand. "Muddling along isn't good enough Andrew! You're so much better than that but you just won't try."

Christopher watched his son's body language go defensive. Shoulders rising, back stiffening. Andrew always hated being told he wasn't good enough. "That would be one less rival for you." Andrew's tone was tight, fierce.

Sam matched it. "I don't care to win against people who aren't actually trying."

Andrew rounded on her. "Would you care if I left?" Andrew clearly cared about the answer, but was trying to sound like he didn't.

Sam match his question with one of her own. "Would _you?"_

 _C'mon Andrew!_ Sam's gaze was fixed on Andrew, waiting for his answer with an intensity that gave away how much the answer meant to her. This was Andrew's chance, if he would just take it.

"Well," Christopher closed his eyes, recognising his son's tone of carelessness. "I only ever entered to annoy Dad. Never thought I'd actually get here." _Oh Rosalind, I've failed you! Our son's an idiot._

He opened his eyes to see that Sam had turned away from Andrew, perhaps to hide the disappointed expression on her face. Although, if she'd stayed facing him, she might have seen that Andrew's face held a mixture of frustration and self-disgust.

After a moment, Sam excused herself and left the bar, presumably to go to bed. Andrew stayed at the bar – ordered a whisky and knocked half of it back in one swallow. Christopher decided it was time to intervene.

"Waste of a good whisky." Andrew whirled around, surprise writ large on his face.

"Dad!" Andrew's expression became furtive. "Did you…? Before…? With Sam?"

Christopher looked down at the almost empty glass in his hand. "Witness you… turning her down?"

Andrew scoffed. "It wasn't like that!"

"Wasn't it?" He glanced up at his son.

Andrew had the grace to look ashamed. "I don't think I'm good enough for her."

"No, you're not." Andrew looked hurt. "But then, wasn't that exactly her point?" Christopher kept his gaze steady on his son. "That you're not good enough for her… yet." Andrew visibly swallowed. "That you need to try, to make an effort."

"Alright, you've made your point." Christopher raised his eyebrows at his son's snappish tone, _clearly hit a nerve._

"You going to do something about it?" Andrew glanced at him side-long. Christopher met his gaze blandly.

"None of your business really, Dad." He watched his son visibly pull up his defence of carelessness and knew that this conversation was at an end. He could only ever push Andrew so far before leaving him to make the rest of the way himself.

"Alright." He turned towards the door. "Goodnight."

* * *

"Um. Christopher…?" Christopher closed his eyes momentarily at the sound of Sue's voice, before glancing at her. "Can I ask why you're stood on a box?"

The corner of his mouth twitched as he held back a smile. "Of course you can."

Sue waited expectantly, before realising he wasn't going to say anything more. She gave him a _I know your game_ look, and shook her head, her quiff flopping forward across her eyes. "So, Christopher, why are you stood on a box?"

He contemplated whether to answer her, and then remembered his conversation with Mel the day before. "It's better to knead the dough."

"Ah, I see!" Sue replied with her usual enthusiasm. "And that works does it?"

"Well… It does for me." He refused to admit that he needed the extra height, especially with these benches.

Sue glanced across the aisle to Andrew, who was currently thwacking his dough rhythmically against his bench. "Your son prefers a different method though?"

Christopher's mouth twisted before he answered, "helps him work out his frustrations." Sue grinned, recognising the implications behind his words.

"Trouble in paradise?" she asked, gesturing vaguely in Sam's direction.

"Couldn't possibly say." He was disturbed by the wink Sue gave him before she waltzed away to talk to Edie. He shook his head and continued to knead his dough.

"You're bound to get Star Baker, Mr Foyle." Sam blew at a lock of hair that had fallen into her face, before pushing it away with floury hands, leaving another smear on her face. "You're a wiz at bread."

He admired the bread snakes she was creating for her Showstopper. "Not so bad yourself."

Sam laughed. "I'd have to create something very special to make up for that technical yesterday." She shook her head in remembered dismay. "That was an absolute disaster!"

He was too polite to agree with her. "You'll be safe though. Chance to try again next week."

"I hope so!" Sam grinned at him as she continued to shape her snakes.

Christopher glanced over at Andrew. As expected, his son was watching Sam, paying scant attention to the herb bread he was supposed to be making. Christopher waited until Andrew caught his eye, and then raised his eyebrow. Andrew flushed and quickly turned back to what was in front of him.

Christopher tutted, the boy was never going to sort his act out. Well, it wasn't his problem. Right now, he needed to concentrate on his own Showstopper.

* * *

"Well done, Dad!" Christopher found himself enveloped in a fierce hug. It still startled him that his son was taller than him, even after all these years. He returned the hug, just as fiercely.

"I told you Mr Foyle! I knew you'd get Star Baker!" Andrew pulled away, stepping back to allow Sam to take his place. She didn't hug Christopher, but held her hand out. He stared at it for a moment, before shaking it firmly. "Congratulations, sir!"

"How many times have I told you to call me Christopher?" Sam smiled and blushed, trying to apologise.

"He means 'thank you'" Andrew interjected. Sam glanced at him briefly, not quite able to meet his eye. Andrew ducked his head slightly, trying to catch her gaze. She studiously avoided him.

"Thank you, Sam." Christopher directed her attention back to him, breaking the awkward moment. Sam looked relieved. He started to move towards the exit.

"Did you know sir, er, Christopher, that every winner of bread week has gone on to win the whole competition?" Sam caught up to walk beside him.

"I did not know that." He glanced over his shoulder to see Andrew trailing along behind them, looking like a lost puppy. Well, it was a tough, but necessary lesson for him to learn. Sam also looked, and her face softened, before she took a deep breath and turned back to him.

"Yes sir. I looked it up." Clearly, she was never going to manage to call him by name.

"Well." He saw the camera crew waiting ahead and realised that he would have to give some sort of post-win interview. "There's still a long way to go."

* * *

A/N

I hope that was ok for all you Foyle lovers out there. He's a slippery character, with like, zero storylines to steal from! So it became quite introspective and focused on his relationship with Andrew. Still, I got him on a box!


	4. Week Four - Dessert Week

A/N

Um, so here you have a chapter focused on Andrew, that just got away with me. He's emotionally all over the place - what a wreck! There is some baking in there somewhere...

* * *

"Here we go again." Andrew couldn't help but smile at Sam's muttered comment. He was very pleased with his position in the tent this week – directly behind Sam. _Who looks amazing in a pair of skinny jeans_. Better yet, his dad was at the front, so he was saved from any disapproving stares.

He checked, and double checked, that his instructions were in place and that he had written the timings on properly. He was determined to prove to Sam that he was taking this competition seriously. It had stung, last weekend, to be told that he wasn't good enough, both by Sam and by his dad. He had gone back to base, fired up and had sworn that he would prove them both wrong. Now, he just had to pull it out of the bag.

And not get distracted by Sam.

"Bakers." While he had been checking his instructions, Mary, Paul, Mel and Sue had appeared. "Mary and Paul would like you to produce twelve crème brûlées."

"You can use any ingredients you like." Sue always looked like she was about to start dancing or running, rocking forwards on her toes. It made him a little anxious, tense, that kind of pent up energy. "But you cannot use a blow torch to caramelise the top."

The tension was coiling tighter and tighter. It probably didn't help that this had been one of those weeks where he hadn't been sleeping. There was a fine tremor in his hands that hopefully the crew would put down to nerves.

"On your marks." Sue began.

"Get set." Mel continued.

"BAKE!" they both cried together.

Finally. He gathered his ingredients, checking his instructions again. He kept his head down, refusing to be distracted by Sam – refusing to let himself be distracted by Sam. After all, it wasn't like she was doing it on purpose. In fact, she had made it very clear that she wasn't interested in him, not as he was. But he was going to change that.

Andrew worked steadily for two hours, weighing, mixing, baking. The camera crew came by, but he didn't have anything for them today. He couldn't even offer up a longing look at Sam – he was just too busy. He wondered if they would deem it some kind of lover's tiff.

The truth was, he had kind of made it up with Sam at the end of the last weekend, but she was definitely keeping him at arm's length. As much as Sam could. She would reply to his texts, but not straight away, and with fewer emojis. She didn't always answer his calls, claiming she was busy practicing. Which she probably had been. It was hard to be mad at Sam, especially when he was to blame in the first place.

Still, her cold shoulder, intentional or not, had left him with plenty of time to practice.

" _When I agreed that you should be allowed to enter this competition Foyle, I never imagined I would be faced with having to dispose of over a hundred crème brûlées." The Wing Commander's eye brows were raised but he didn't seem displeased, despite his tone of voice._

 _Andrew had looked at the assortment of desserts spread across the table and shrugged. "I needed to practice sir." He was suddenly on the receiving end of a sharp-eyed stare._

" _Are you sleeping Foyle?" Andrew swallowed, but nodded. "You seem a little… out of sorts."_

" _It's just the competition sir." Andrew smiled, hoping to deflect his superior's attention._

 _It didn't work, but then it never did. "If it becomes too much, I will have to pull you out."_

 _That would completely derail his plans! "It won't sir."_

And it wouldn't. He was determined. To impress Sam, to show his dad he was worth supporting, to prove, perhaps to himself, that he could do something great – if he tried. He just had to concentrate.

* * *

"Annnnd… step away from your bakes." Andrew lingered for a moment, propping up a piece of caramelised rhubarb. "Andrew!" He jumped. "Hands off!" He raised his hands in the air as he backed away. Sam threw a laughing glance over her shoulder, causing his stomach to flip-flop quite pleasantly.

She walked with him as they left the tent so that it could be tidied ready for judging. "Your crème brûlée look amazing!" Her words ignited a warmth in him that made him smile. "Seriously, they're really good."

"Well, nobody's tasted them yet. They could be runny." Sam gave him a narrow-eyed look at his unaccustomed reticence. Normally, he would have accepted her compliment as a matter of course.

"I doubt that very much." He smiled again, pleased by her honesty.

"Yours are much better. I would never think of combining those flavours." Sam looked genuinely pleased by his less than spectacular compliment, and he rushed to do better. "You really are a fantastic baker Sam, I wish I was half as good as you." He was rewarded with a blushing smile, before she turned her face away, embarrassed. "I think you're the best baker in the competition." She laughed and nudge his shoulder with hers.

The pleasure he felt at her reaction seemed almost disproportionate, but it had been a long time since he'd actually cared if someone liked him or not – like him for himself and not for his looks or the uniform.

"You're a terrible flatterer." Sam was abrupt in her efforts to seem less pleased.

"Never, when it comes to baking. I take it very seriously you know." She laughed at his response, clearly not believing him.

"Come on." She caught hold of his arm and he felt his heart kick up a gear. "Let's get a cup of tea before the torture begins."

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, back at the tent. "That _wasn't_ torture?" Sam laughed again.

"Before it gets worse then." They walked together to the refreshments.

* * *

The morning had gone well, and he was confident about his showstopper. The one rouge element was the technical, and that could literally be anything. He had spent one sleepless night scouring Paul and Mary's recipes, trying to figure out what it might be before admitting defeat at around 4am and falling asleep in a nest of cookery books.

Had he read about spanische windtorte in those long, dark hours? He couldn't remember now. Rings of French meringue that have been baked into a cylinder with a bottom and a top lid, then filled with whipped cream, fresh berries, topped with hand-made fondant violets and Swiss meringue. It certainly sounded like something he might have hallucinated.

" _Read the instructions carefully."_ That had been Mary's advice and Andrew decided to follow it. He read the scant instructions once, and then again. _Start with the shell._ French meringue. He could do that. Just one step at a time.

He glanced around the room to see how the other contestants were managing. His father had already started, no surprise there. Paul Milner seemed to be making some headway as well. Sam was reading the instructions in her usual way, one hand clutching at her hair. He couldn't see her expression from his position behind her, but he imagined she looked quite stressed. Various other contestants were in similar states, either getting on with it or still reading. Andrew reached for the eggs.

* * *

He always let himself down on the detail. Andrew couldn't help an angry sound of frustration from escaping as he failed, yet again, to create a fondant violet. Eight other failed attempts had left his fondant looking less than ideal.

"Are you alright?" He jumped at the sound of Sam's voice, so wrapped up in attempting to make the flowers he hadn't noticed her approaching.

"I can't make the f… blasted things." His father's strict rules about appropriate language had him automatically correcting what he was about to say.

"You need to flatten the fondant between sheets of greaseproof paper." Sam took the fondant from his hands, forming it into small balls, about the size of orange pips, before demonstrating what she meant. "That way they will all be the same width and they won't have any finger marks."

Andrew watched carefully, as she created more petals with the darker violet fondant, and stamens with the yellow. Then she used the paintbrush with a little bit of water to stick it all together.

Andrew groaned. "You make it look so easy!"

Same laughed. "It's not that hard." She held out the fondant. "Your turn."

Andrew attempted to recreate what he had just seen. Sam checked and corrected him a couple of times, but within a few minutes he was in possession of a passable violet. He laughed in triumph. "I did it!" He grinned at her, holding up his hand, "and I couldn't have done it without you." Sam's high-five left his hand tingling. She turned back to her own bench, leaving him to complete the rest of the violets. As she did so, Andrew became aware of the camera hovering behind her, that had, presumably, filmed the whole thing.

The camera had never bothered him, not the way it did his father or Milner, who seemed to twitch whenever he saw it headed his way. But it still felt like an intrusion and Andrew resented it. Every normal moment became something to be collected, dissected and pieced back together, in a way that suited someone else's agenda.

Andrew had tried to direct that agenda as much as he could, playing the part of the flirt, the charmer, but that had backfired with Sam. And at the end of the day, he cared more for Sam's opinion than some faceless tv executive. But that meant having the camera intrude on his moments with Sam. _If it wasn't for the show, I would never have met Sam._ He should be grateful really.

* * *

To his own surprise, Andrew had come third in the technical. His pleasure was soured somewhat by Sam coming second-to-last. It just wasn't right. She was far too good to keep messing up so badly. She wasn't like him, she was careful and thorough, not careless and slap-dash.

She had looked close to tears in the tent and had hurried off before he got a chance to talk to her. Andrew looked for her in the dining room but she wasn't there. That's when he knew she was _really_ upset. Sam _never_ missed food.

Thinking back on the previous weekends, ( _had he only met her four weeks ago?_ ), Andrew decided Sam was probably somewhere outside, even though it was a gloomy, grey day.

What was it they'd seen last weekend? A walled garden? Maybe she was there. He headed in that direction – he had to start somewhere.

Walking through the archway that led to the walled garden, Andrew thought he heard a sound. Then he saw Sam, huddled up on a bench that was tucked in a corner of the garden. Her arms were wrapped around her legs and her face was hidden against her knees. _Oh Sam._

He approached her carefully, afraid of startling her. Then he heard a sound remarkably like a sob. "Sam." She visibly started, lifted her head enough for him to see her tear-stained face before she abruptly turned away.

"Oh. Andrew." Her voice was rough, and she was attempting to scrub discreetly at her eyes. "Were you looking for me?"

He sat on the bench next to her and tried to figure out what to do. "Yes, actually. It's getting late and you missed dinner."

"Oh, I'm sorry." Sam made a move as though to get up, and Andrew stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"Don't be sorry Sam." She still wouldn't look at him. "I just wanted to know if you were alright." She finally turned to him, the corners of her mouth turning up in a sad approximation of a smile. Her eyes were red, as was the tip of her nose.

"I'm fine." Her voice was full of false cheer, and suddenly Andrew couldn't bear it any longer. He slid his arm around Sam's shoulders and pulled her into a hug. She resisted for a moment, and he nearly let her go, before she suddenly clung to him. He pulled her in a close as he could and just held her. Long moments passed.

Eventually Sam pulled away, wiping her eyes again. Andrew offered her his handkerchief, gratefully for his father's old-fashioned ways that meant he was never without one. Sam stared at the handkerchief blankly for a moment, before taking it. "You must think I'm an idiot, crying over cake." She was clearly embarrassed, and Andrew rushed to reassure her.

"Don't be silly Sam." Realising his words hadn't been chosen as carefully as they could have been, Andrew hurried on. "It's because you care so much, and you care so much because you're a good baker. A good person. I could never think badly of you." That was the gospel truth. He couldn't imagine a situation where he could feel disappointed in Sam, she just wasn't that kind of person. She could, however, disappoint herself.

"That's very kind of you to say." Sam's tone of voice suggested she didn't believe him.

"It's not kindness Sam, it's the truth." She shrugged, and Andrew realised that there was probably nothing he could say that would convince her he was telling the truth. If only he hadn't been such a flirt in the beginning, maybe she would trust him now! "Sam…"

"We should go! I missed dinner." This time Sam made it to her feet and was heading to the archway before he realised she was moving.

"Sam!" His voice was harsher, more abrupt that he had intended but it worked. Sam stopped, and her shoulders slumped slightly. "I meant every word."

"If I'm such a good baker, how come I mess up every technical?" She turned her head enough to glance at him from the corner of her eye.

He hesitated, floundering for the right words. Sam seemed to take his silence as some kind of proof that she was right, and shook her head before moving once more in the direction of the exit. "You don't believe in yourself." He practically shouted the words at her, afraid she would leave before he could say the right thing. Sam stopped and swung round. "You don't think you can do, so you don't. You doubt yourself too much."

Sam looked down at the ground, her fists clenched. He walked towards her slowly, wondering if she'd take a swing if he got too close, but instead she unclenched her fists and looked up. "I don't think belief would change much, I'm just not good enough." She hugged herself. "My mother was right."

Andrew was suddenly angry. "Your mother was wrong!" Sam looked at him in surprise. "I've said it before and I'll say it again, you're the best baker here."

"Then how come I always come last, no matter how hard I try when you…"Sam trailed off, but Andrew knew what she had been going to say.

"When I do alright without really trying?" It hurt, that she actually felt like that, but it was his own fault really. "The truth is Sam, I do try. A lot. I just pretend that I don't." She looked a little sceptical. "It's easier that way, to laugh it off if it doesn't work out. But really, I practice like crazy."

"You can't practice for the technical." Her tone said she had clearly caught him out with that point.

"No…" he suddenly smiled at the memory, "but you can spend whole nights reading every book of Mary's or Paul's you can get your hands on." Sam looked at first doubtful and then incredulous.

"Seriously?" He nodded.

"I was awake, so I thought, why not?" Sam frowned slightly, and he hurried to distract her before she could focus on the part about him being awake. "I don't remember everything I read in detail, but it's enough that the technical seem vaguely familiar."

"And all this time I thought you were just winging it." Sam shook her head in disbelief.

"That's what I wanted you to think." He shoved his hands in his pockets.

"But why?" Really, he should have guessed that the conversation would end up here, but still he felt wrong footed.

"I don't know." She didn't look impressed with such an off-hand response, and he realised he needed to be straight with her. "I guess, I'm afraid of messing up. So, I… set expectations low." Sam's face softened. "Then I won't disappoint anyone." Except for his dad, but he had been disappointed in him for a long time now, so Dad was probably used to it.

"Oh Andrew, that's silly." How had it come to pass that Sam was now trying to comfort him? She moved forward to place her hand on his arm. "No one would be disappointed if they knew that you had tried your best."

He smiled. "That's what I've been trying to tell _you_." Sam frowned. "No one is disappointed in you, except for _you_."

Sam pulled a face. "I just wish I could do well in a technical for once." Andrew put his arm around her shoulders, steering her towards the exit. They had had enough of heavy conversation for a while.

"You will Sam. _You_ just have to believe that." She elbowed him in the ribs gently. "How about we make a deal." She looked at him, and he realised for one dizzying moment exactly how close she was. His gaze dropped to her lips, before he tore it away. "You believe in yourself and I will stop pretending that I don't care."

She stopped, forcing him to stop also, and held out her hand. "Shake on it." He gripped her hand firmly in his own and shook it. Then, to his astonishment and pleasure, Sam placed her other hand on his shoulder and leaned up to kiss his cheek. "Thank you for coming to find me."

He cleared his throat. "What are friends for?" She looked at him with an unreadable expression.

"Are we friends then?" He sucked in a breath.

"If you like?" He could have kicked himself. Every time he had a decent opening to push his relationship with Sam forward, he backed off. _Bloody coward._

Sam didn't reply, but tucked her arm through his, pressing against his side. He felt suddenly too warm. "Let's go get something to eat."

* * *

Andrew had actually slept that night, so by all rights should have felt rested and ready for the competition. Instead, it was as though he had a hangover. When his alarm had gone off, it was all he could do to turn it off. Getting up was out of the question.

He had gone back to sleep, waking only when someone knocked on his door. Even then, he probably wouldn't have got up if he hadn't heard his father's voice telling him to get up, or he would come back with a spare key card and make him get up. Knowing his father as well as he did, Andrew had crawled out of bed and let him in.

Dad had taken one look at him, frowned and then set about making him presentable. He was so effective that ten minutes later, Andrew arrived in the lobby, yawning and still buttoning his shirt. The others were already there, and Andrew realised that he must have slept clean through breakfast. Sam gave him a concerned look that morphed into a frown at his attempt at a smile. _'Don't pretend'_ she mouthed, and he dropped his gaze to the floor, raising his eyebrows in a verbal shrug.

He ran his hand through his hair and realised that he hadn't made his usual efforts to flatten it down. Instead it was curling across his forehead. His shirt was clean but rumpled. He was going to disgrace the RAF by appearing on television, looking like he'd had a night of heavy drinking. _Brilliant._

He thought of the long day ahead – getting ready for filming, baking, judging, filming inserts, heading back to base, reporting in, catching up on the work he'd missed… Andrew suddenly felt truly exhausted. _I can't do this._

"Andrew?" His father's voice seemed to come from far away. Andrew slowly turned his head to look at him. "Are you alright?"

He licked his lips. "'m fine, Dad." Where was the manic energy of yesterday? Why had it deserted him now, leaving him feeling like he just wanted to sleep forever?

His father didn't reply straight away, but looked him over carefully. Dad's mouth did that thing, where it turned down. Were mouths supposed to be able to do that? Andrew had never been sure, he had never managed it himself. "Been almost a year, hasn't it?"

For a brief moment, Andrew didn't know what he was talking about. And then he remembered. "What's that got to do with anything?" His voice was cross, defensive.

His father lifted his eyebrows, shrugging much as Andrew had done to Sam. "Anniversaries can make things harder."

The sudden rush of anger took Andrew by surprise, stealing his breath and burning him up inside. _'It's alright to be angry.'_ The remembered voice of the therapist they had made him see was as annoying now as it had been then. It wasn't alright to be angry. Not at Dad, not when he was only telling the truth. Not when he was speaking from experience. He forced the anger down, pushed it aside. "I just slept too much, that's all." Could you sleep too much? It sounded like a nonsensical explanation to Andrew, but his father didn't query it.

Instead, he looked first to the side, before returning his gaze to Andrew. "Proud of you." His tone was clipped, as it always was when it came to anything emotional. "You can get through this."

Andrew swallowed hard against the lump that had appeared in his throat. He felt almost dizzy from the sudden, shifting, mood swings. His father clearly hadn't been waiting for a response, because he turned to follow the others with a brusque "C'mon." Andrew trailed along behind. As he did, another piece of the therapist's advice came back to him. _'One step at a time.'_

* * *

"Are you alright?" Sam kept her voice low, leaning back against his counter ass the camera crews set themselves up.

"I'm fine Sam." He well deserved the disbelieving look she gave him, but he hadn't expected the flash of hurt that also crossed her face. She began to straighten up, and he realised that, once again, he was backing off when he should be opening up. _If only it was easier!_ "Well." She paused, which gave him hope. "Not fine, really, but I'm managing."

She turned then, giving him the kind of careful scrutiny he normally got from his father. "Are you sure?" Her concern warmed him, and he nodded. "If you need anything…" She let the offer hang, and he smiled.

"I'll ask, I promise." Sam held out her hand, and he laughed, but grasped it in his. "Are we going to shake on everything from now on?" he asked.

"Only the important things." Sam gave his hand a squeeze, before letting go and turning around. Andrew felt a tiny bit better, knowing that Sam was with him. He looked at his father, only to catching him watching them. Dad nodded, and Andrew knew that Dad too was supporting him. _It's just cake_ he reminded himself. _No one will get hurt if it goes wrong._ He shivered slightly, but pushed it aside as the judges and presenters walked out.

* * *

"So, Andrew, what does the RAF think of you being in Bake Off?" He was surprised that it had taken four weeks for either Mel or Sue to ask this question, he had been expecting it from week one. He glanced briefly at Sue as he tried to measure out his elderflower cordial.

"They're fine with it. I'm not on active service at the moment." He stooped to check the level.

"And the other pilots? What do they think of you baking?" Sue propped her hip against his counter, narrowly missing knocking his bottle over with her elbow.

Andrew shook his head, smiling. "They give me some stick."

"Really?" Sue leaned forward, like a dog scenting meat.

"Oh yes!" He laughed. "Rex always teases…" He trailed off. Grief rose to the surface, rendering him speechless. He took a deep breath in through his nose. And then another. Clearing his throat, he made himself continue. "Rex always _teased_ me about it something rotten."

Sue's expression had changed from sharply curious to watchful. "Rex?"

Andrew licked his dry lips, and gave up trying to work. He couldn't remember what he was supposed to do next. "He died." Sue looked shocked, and saddened. "He was my best friend. And he died."

"Oh mate, I'm sorry." He was horribly aware that his vision was blurring. He forced himself to just keep breathing.

"He was shot down, when we were on tour in Syria, nearly a year ago." Sue placed a hand on his arm, turning him towards her and then she was hugging him. Andrew tried desperately to cling onto his composure. For a moment, he missed his mother.

She pulled away. "I'm so sorry." He made a _it's alright_ noise. Sue turned to the camera and politely told them to "shove off." Surprisingly, they went. Andrew watched them go, bemused. "They know that if they don't, I'll just start swearing, so then they can't use the footage anyway."

"Thank you." His voice was rough, his emotions barely contained. Sue patted his arm gently.

"If you need a minute," she gestured to the exit. He shook his head, and with one last pat, she left him to go and talk to someone else. Andrew felt like the whole tent must be staring at him, but when he risked a look around, he realised that they were all too busy getting on with their cheesecakes. Except for Sam, who had abandoned her bake to round his counter.

"Sam…" He waved towards her bench, but she merely used this as an opportunity to slide under his outstretched arm, wrapping both of hers around him in a fierce hug.

"I didn't know." Her voice was a whisper against his shoulder. "I didn't know."

Her sympathy caused something to break, and he clung to her, burying his face against her curls. He didn't weep, but his throat was tight, his eyes burned, and he shook with the strength of his emotions. "I know," he managed to croak out.

He wasn't sure how long they stood like that, _too long probably._ He made himself let go. Again, he looked around. And again, no-one was looking. And thankfully, there was no camera hovering nearby. "Thank you, Sam." He touched her face gently, with fingers that still shook. Her eyes were big with concern. "You need to get on with your bake."

She shook her head, but he nodded. "I'll be alright, I promise." Sam took a deep breath, narrowed her eyes, but eventually nodded. "Go and make your ginger beer, or whatever it is." This caused a ghost of a smile to appear, and Sam went back to her own station. He took a deep breath himself, checked his hands, _still trembling_ , and then re-read his instructions to try and figure out what he was actually trying to do.

* * *

His cheesecake wasn't quite what he had wanted it to be, but all things considered, it hadn't turned out that bad. He sat between Sam and Milner, waiting for the judge's final decision. Sam was practically glowing, still buzzing from the judges' compliments towards her fizzy pop inspired cheesecake. She was sat so close to him, her shoulder was pressed against his, but he welcomed the touch. It helped to ground him, alleviating the exhaustion that was back in full force.

He managed to muster up a grin when his father was named Star Baker for the second time, pleased for him. He felt a twinge of sympathy for Hugh Reid who was sent home. Mostly, he felt relief that it was all over. Followed by a panicked realisation that he would have to do it all again next weekend. _One step at a time._ He managed to bring the panic under control before it could take over. Sam hugged him, distracting him, which was good. It allowed him to push the negative thoughts aside.

He didn't really want to talk to the cameras, but he managed to say how proud he was of his dad and they didn't seem to want any more. Once he was free, he wandered over to where his father was standing with Sam.

"I'll give you a lift." His father made the offer sound like an instruction, which it probably was. Andrew tried to argue, but was cut off firmly. "You're exhausted. Driving in your condition, you'd probably kill someone." Himself, although that went unsaid. Andrew found himself nodding along. "When you're ready," his father said, before heading off.

"Are you going to be ok?" Sam slid her hand into his and Andrew looked at in surprise. He felt a warmth on his cheeks and realised he was blushing.

"I will be." He squeezed her hand gently. "After some sleep."

"Do you think…" Sam hesitated, biting her lip. He frowned. It wasn't like her not to say what she was thinking. After a moment, she carried on, her tone cautious. "Do you think you should… talk to someone?"

He tensed slightly, but bit back the instant retort that it had nothing to so with her. She was his friend, or something like a friend, she was just concerned. "I have talked to someone Sam. They said it just takes time." _You'll get through it._ His father's advice had always resonated much more strongly than the therapist's and that's what he remembered now.

"Well, you can always talk to me." Sam wiggled her fingers, and he loosened his grip, thinking she wanted to let go. Instead, she interlaced their fingers. "I'm always here for you."

He suddenly, desperately wanted to kiss her, but checked himself. Not now, not when he was so all over the place emotionally. He made himself smile, and thanked her sincerely. They started heading after his father, hand in hand. _There's always next week._

* * *

A/N

Hope that was ok. By the by, anyone recognise the bakes?


	5. Week Five - Alternative Bakes

A/N

Apologies for the wait - RL intruded in a big way. I had a nice but busy weekend which meant I only managed to write the first 3,000 words of this (roughly up to the Showstopper section) and then I was struck down by the norovirus (yuck), so I've only just managed to finish writing the rest. I hope it doesn't disappoint!

Onwards to Sam, and Alternative ingredients...

* * *

"…so that's when my Uncle Aubrey found out he was diabetic. So, he learnt how to make cake without sugar. It's his recipe I'm using today." It had turned into something of a game now, to see how long she could spin the story out before somebody tried to cut her off.

"Is that the vicar in Hampshire?" Mel and Sue had a competition of their own, to see who could remember the most about Sam's family. So far, Mel was winning, mainly because she had taken detailed notes in the first few weekends.

"Yes, that's the one." Sue gave Mel a grin of triumph, which was returned with a narrow-eyed look.

"Isn't he one that makes his own wine?" Sam couldn't help her inadvertent grimace at the memory of Uncle Aubrey's wine but tried to hide it by ducking below the counter to grab an extra bowl she didn't actually need.

"That's right." She reappeared in time to see Mel's grin at Sue. 1-1.

"Well, er, thank you Sam." As always, Paul Hollywood didn't quite know what to make of the situation. That was a particular bonus to Sam's game. It wasn't often that Paul was disconcerted but she seemed to manage it with surprising ease just by chatting about her family. "Good luck with your bake."

"Yes, good luck. It sounds very interesting." Mary never seemed to be put out. Sam imagined Mary would be calm and in control in any situation, so a little thing like a contestant with too much to say wasn't going to throw her off.

As they walked away, Sam caught Andrew's gaze from across the aisle. He grinned at her and winked. She grinned back. She had confessed her little game to him in a late-night phone call, and he had been tickled by it. After the first week, Mary and Paul had made sure to always visit Sam last, otherwise the other bakers were too far along in their bakes. So, Sam had started her game. Andrew had very much approved.

"Damn!" Andrew stopped grinning at Sam and instead looked down at his hand. Sam looked too, and then she was hurrying across the aisle.

"Andrew!" She caught wrist, holding his hand up to inspect the deep cut across his palm. "This looks really bad."

"I'm sure it'll be fine Sam, they stick a plaster on it and I'll be ok." Andrew pressed a tea towel against the room. "I'll just go see the medic." Sam let him go, watching as he made his way to the medic. She bit her lip. The cut had looked bad, and it was her fault! She had distracted him with her silly game!

"Sam." Mel gently gripped her arm and steered her back to her own station. "You need to concentrate on your own bake. Andrew will be fine, he's in good hands." Sam nodded, and took a deep breath. She was over-reacting. Andrew would be fine. She glanced over her shoulder to see that the medic had sat Andrew down and was carefully tending to his wound. He would be fine.

* * *

Sam couldn't help but throw worried glances at Andrew. He had gone back to his station with a blue glove on, since he'd required so much taping up, smiling and saying he would be fine. However, Sam noticed that he was barely using his right hand, which was hampering his progress, and she could see the concerned looks he kept giving it. Eventually she couldn't take it anymore and when her cake was in the oven, she hurried over to him.

"Andrew, are you alright?" He looked at her guiltily. She caught at his wrist gain and held up his hand, only to gasp when she realised the glove was full of blood. "Andrew!"

Her exclamation caught the attention of Edie, working on the bench behind Andrew. She hurried around, and gently peeled back the glove. Sam couldn't help the noise she made. Andrew's hand was a gory shade of red, literally covered in blood. Edie, a nurse, carefully inspected the wound. "You need stitches."

Andrew shrugged awkwardly. "That's what the medic said, but I thought I'd be alright with some tape." Edie gave him a look that said exactly what she thought of that. "I can't leave the competition." Sam could hear an edge of desperation in Andrew's voice.

"You're not going to win with one hand completely out of action." Edie's voice was no-nonsense. Andrew glanced at Sam. Whatever he saw on her face had his shoulder's slumping in defeat and, accompanied by Edie, headed again to the medic. Sam went with them this time, and she was joined by Andrew's dad. Mr Foyle inspected his son's hand.

"What have you done this time?" Beneath the chiding, Sam could hear real worry. Andrew grinned at his father, but he was starting to look quite pale.

"You know me dad, just want to be the centre of attention." Mr Foyle tutted.

"You're taking him to the hospital." Perhaps he had meant it as a question, but it certainly came out as an order. The medic nodded and soon Andrew was leaving the tent. Sam watched him go, a pit of anxiety in her stomach. He could be hours. His injury could prevent him from being able to compete properly. Her breath caught. What if he was sent home this week because he was unable to complete this bake?

This played on her mind even as she created the decoration for her cake. It was hard to concentrate, and she had ruined two lots of icing before she stopped, placed both hands flat on the counter and lowered her head. She breathed in… and then out… in… out…

"Miss Stewart, are you alright?" The cockney accent made her jump, and she turned around to find Ian Brooke watching her with concern from his position at the counter behind hers.

"Oh yes, Brookie, I'm fine." At his sceptical look, she amended her words, "well, not fine exactly." She fiddled with the strings of her apron. "I suppose I'm just worried about Andrew."

Brookie frowned. "Why? He's in safe hands, he'll be fine."

"What if he has to go home because he didn't complete his bakes?" Sam leant forward across Brookie's counter.

"Then that's one less person in the competition." At her affronted look, Brokkie laughed. "You have remembered that this is a competition Sam? That only one person can win?"

"Of course I haven't forgotten!" Sam was indignant. "But I wouldn't want to get through this week by default!"

Brookie shrugged. "I don't like it either, but rather him than me." Sam shook her head. "There's no need for you to be working yourself up over him anyway." He suddenly looked sly. "Unless there is…?"

Sam turned away abruptly, to the sound of Brookie's chuckles. _Of all the nerve!_ As if! She threw herself into her bake, determined to prove Brookie wrong. Over her head, Brookie and Christopher Foyle shared a smile.

* * *

"The flavours are perfect. You would never know there wasn't any sugar in there." Mary was smiling, and Sam couldn't stop grinning in return.

"The texture is good." Paul poked at the slice of cake he'd cut. "See how it's holding together. Moist but not too wet." He put the fork down and then held out his hand. Sam stopped grinning then. In fact, her mouth dropped open, and it took her few seconds to remember that she needed to participate in this handshake. Her hand trembled as she received her 'Hollywood handshake'. The judges and presenters moved away, and Sam sank back onto her stool. She couldn't believe that her cake had turned out so well, what with all the drama. She glanced towards Andrew's empty counter and frowned. _I wonder how he is?_

* * *

Pitta breads. Gluten-free pitta breads to be exact. The success of the morning had left Sam feeling buoyant, and a text from Andrew, saying that he was waiting for stitches and should be back soon, had only increased her happiness. She looked forward to having her friend back and checking that he really was ok.

Still, gluten-free pitta breads had brought her back down to earth with a bump. Especially when the instructions were almost non-existent. Fortunately, Sam had experience of gluten-free baking, since her mother had Coeliac disease, although she had never tried pitta bread before. At least she knew what to do with the psyllium powder, unlike some of the other contestants.

"What even is this?" she heard Brookie mutter behind her. She smiled, but, recalling his comments earlier about this being a competition, she made sure to hide what she was doing with her body.

She carefully added the water, stopping when the dough became sticky. This meant she hadn't used all the water, but that was ok. She caught sight of Mr Foyle's water jug. Empty. He was going to regret that.

The camera appeared as she tipped the dough out, ready to knead. No Mel or Sue, but the camera operator asked her to explain what she was doing. It was odd to narrate her baking, but she could do it. "Kneading won't take long. The dough just needs to be smooth." She worked as she talked. "As there's no gluten, it will never get stretchy or elastic." Satisfied that the dough was ready, she popped it back into the bowl, covered it with clingfilm and then put it in the proving drawer. "Now, it just needs to prove for about…" she glanced at her watch, "well, ideally it would be an hour and a half, but I don't think I'll have that long. So, I'll check in an hour."

The camera crew moved along to check on one of the other contestants and Sam decided to find a stool to sit on for a while.

The camera was back when Sam removed her dough from the proving drawer. She was pleased to see it had doubled in size. "I need to divide it into 12." She quickly weighed and calculated, and then chopped her dough into pieces. Then she shaped the pieces into balls, which she flattened into an oval shape. "I'll put four to a tray, bake for 10 minutes…" She looked at her watch again, and pulled a face. "I'm going to have to put two trays in at once." She suited the action to the word. "Not ideal, but I don't have enough time to put one tray in at a time."

* * *

She was proud of the end result. Her pittas were puffed up and slightly golden. Hopefully they were baked inside, but it was hard to tell. She moved to put her board onto the table, and noted that some of the others weren't looking quite so um… well.

Heading out the tent while it was cleaned up, Sam decided she deserved some tea. Edie was also there.

"Oh Sam, that technical was fiendish!" Edie practically wailed. "Not that _you_ seemed to have any trouble!" Edie poked her elbow into Sam's side, almost causing her to lose her tea.

"I've had practice." She blew carefully on her tea to cool it before taking a cautious sip. "My mum has coeliac disease." Edie nodded understandingly. "That meant a lot of gluten-free baking in my house."

Edie nodded, and then glanced over Sam's shoulder and smiled. Sam turned to see what Edie was smiling at.

She spotted Andrew, talking to one of the producers. He glanced her way and she waved. He gave an awkward wave back with a bandaged hand, before turning back to his conversation. She was pleased to see him and wanted to ask how he was, but clearly now was not the moment.

She was cornered by one of the camera crews to do a talking head piece. For once, it was easy to chatter on about how happy she was with her bake. Once she was done, she looked for Andrew again but couldn't see him. She did, however, see his father.

"Um, Mr Foyle, sir. Have you seen Andrew?" Mr Foyle was frowning, not an unusual expression on him, but this frown seemed concerned. "Is something wrong?"

"No. Well, actually yes." He chewed the corner of his mouth for a moment before continuing, "Andrew seems a little…" He tried again. "He's had a rough time of it this last year, I'm concerned…" He cleared his throat.

To save them both any further awkwardness, Sam jumped in, "do you want me to talk to him?" Mr Foyle looked relieved, and nodded.

"He went that way." Mr Foyle gestured towards the trees, and now Sam could see a figure pacing backwards and forwards in amongst the trees.

She headed over, conscious that they would be called back into the tent soon for the judging. When she reached the trees, she could see that Andrew was in bad shape. He was fuming to himself as he paced, and his hair was unruly, as if he had been running his hand through it. She hesitated to draw his attention, but he caught sight of her anyway.

"Sam!" He seemed surprised.

"How's your hand?" Andrew glared down at his bandaged hand.

"I got four stitches." Sam frowned. He seemed a lot angrier than four stitches warranted.

"Does it hurt?" He shook his head.

"Nah, they gave me some painkillers." Sam reached for his hand, before changing her mind. If Andrew noticed her half-completed movement, he didn't react. He started pacing again.

"Andrew…" he glanced at her, "is something wrong?"

"It's nothing." His voice was clipped, and Sam flinched. He caught her movement and looked momentarily ashamed. "The producer told me that they may have to eliminate me."

"What?!" Sam's voice was much too loud, and she managed to lower her tone as she continued. "They can't do that. It's not your fault."

"Yeah, well, apparently the rules are you have to present a bake." Andrew made an angry gesture like he was about to hit something and Sam caught her breath, afraid that he would hurt himself further.

"I'm sorry Andrew." She laid her hand on his arm in a placating gesture. "I know how much this competition means to you." He glanced at her. "I know you've had a bad year." His eyes widened in surprise, before he scowled and shook her hand off.

"Do you? Did my father tell you that?" His voice rose. "Did he send you over here?" He sneered. "Poor Andrew is upset, send a pretty girl to cheer him up."

Sam reeled, hurt. "I'm not a pretty girl." She closed her eyes in frustration. "I'm mean, I'm not just a pretty girl." Sam's hurt turned to anger. "I _thought_ I was your _friend._ " She stepped back. "Clearly I was wrong." She turned around and marched back to the tent.

* * *

Getting first on the technical should have been a euphoric moment, after being last or nearly last every week, but her confrontation with Andrew left her too churned up inside to really appreciate it. it did make her feel a little better, but not enough. She waved off the others and headed to her room at the hotel. _Maybe a bath would make me feel better?_

She looked through the complementary toiletries before selecting a sachet of bath crystals. She started running the bath, before attempting to open the sachet.

"Why. Do. They. Have. To. Make. These. Things. So. Tough. To. Open!" On the last word, the sachet ripped, and the crystals flew everywhere. Mostly over Sam. "Brilliant. Great. Today just gets better and better." Just then there was a knock at her door.

"Great, even better." She marched to the door and ripped it open. On the other side of the door stood Andrew, looking penitent. At least he did, until he saw her. Then he fought to hide a smile. "What do you want?" Sam was not in the mood to deal with Andrew right now.

"I want to apologise. I behaved very badly earlier." Andrew sounded matter of fact, which made his apology seem more sincere. "I was angry, but I should never have taken it out on you." He looked down at his hands, his left picking at the bandages on his right. "You're my friend and I behaved like a…" he tailed off, seeming to search for the right word.

"An ass?" Sam supplied.

He looked surprised and then smiled slightly. "Yes, an ass." His small smile grew into something bigger, hopeful. "Let me make it up to you. Let me take you to dinner." She raised an eyebrow. "Not here, somewhere else, just the two of us." Her heart gave a jolt at his words, and she felt warm.

Telling herself not to be silly, she brushed at some of the bath crystals on her t-shirt. "Alright. When?"

"7? In the lobby?" She looked him straight in the eye, and felt a further jolt at the warmth in his gaze.

"Alright," she said again. Andrew outright grinned before heading down the hallway. Sam watched him go for a moment before remembering that she had left the bath running. "Fudge!"

* * *

Sam hadn't laughed so much in years. Slumping against the wall of the lift, she wiped weakly at her eyes. Andrew continued to grin at her. "You seriously did not do that?"

"I most certainly did." He looked smug.

She shook her head and made an effort to straighten up. She looked at Andrew, who was still smiling, still looking smug. "How did you get away with it?"

"Well, when you're one of the best pilots on the base…" She shoved him, and he let her. He grinned at her and Sam couldn't help but notice how handsome he was. She blushed and looked away.

All evening she had had these moments. It helped that Andrew was more real tonight than he usually was, more like he was on the phone and not performing for an audience. Sam liked that Andrew. She liked him a lot. She glanced sideways at him, to find that he was still smiling at her. She was fairly certain her face was on fire.

The lift pinged, and they made their way down the corridor, not talking. They had talked all through dinner, about anything and everything. That's what she liked most, that Andrew wanted to know about her, that he listened as much as he talked. She had learnt all about the RAF, how much he liked flying – even about the painful story of his friend Rex. In return, she had told him about her struggles to be accepted in the male dominated world of engineering and her problems with her parents. It had been lovely, and they had stayed out much later than they had intended. Now, though, Sam felt tongue-tiedd.

Reaching her room, Sam paused, uncertain and a little shy. Andrew paused too, turning to face her. Sam felt her heart-rate increase. She didn't quite know where to look.

"Sam." She glanced at Andrew briefly, unable to maintain eye-contact with his intense gaze. "Would…" His hesitance gave her the confidence to look at him again. "May I kiss you?"

She couldn't help but smile. "Yes."

His good left hand came to rest on her waist, and she caught her breath as he closed the distance between them. His lips were warm and firm. She couldn't help a small gasp as he suddenly tugged her closer. Andrew took advantage to slide his tongue into her mouth. Sam moaned. The kiss turned heated.

Andrew's hand moved from her waist to the back of her head, as he pressed into the kiss. Sam felt her back hit the door, Andrew's hand cushioning her head. She slid her own hands up his shoulders before stroking the hair at the back of his neck. Andrew made a noise in the back of his throat, kissing her harder.

Finally running out of breath, Sam tore her mouth away, only to gasp as he kissed just below her ear. Andrew paused, before kissing her again in the same spot, slowly. She moaned as his teeth scraped her skin. He kissed her neck again, open mouthed, brushing her skin with his tongue. Sam shuddered. It was too much. She dragged his mouth back to hers.

Eventually they both pulled away. Andrew rested his forehead against hers. "God, Sam." His voice shook, and so did the fingers that touched her face. It was gratifying to see that he was as affected by this as she was. "This is crazy." His voice was a whisper and she wondered if he was talking to himself. He took a deep breath and drew back from her. His eyes were dark, darker than usual. "I should go, before we get carried away."

For a moment, she wanted to do just that, get carried away and pull him into the room with her. Sense intervened though, and she was reminded that they had only known each other for five weeks. She let her hands slip from his shoulders, where they had been resting. "Yes."

Andrew hesitated, before leaning back in to kiss her again. She melted into him, before pulling away. He managed a grin and stepped back. "Good night, Sam."

She smiled at him. It was probably a silly smile, but she suddenly felt very happy indeed. "Good night Andrew."

* * *

It was hard to concentrate on making dairy-free ice-cream. Sam resolved not to make eye-contact with Andrew anymore after she had accidently poured coconut cream over the worktop rather than in the bowl. Andrew, _the rat,_ had laughed.

She couldn't look at Mr Foyle either. He had incepted some of the looks that had passed between Andrew and her that morning at breakfast and had responded with a raised eyebrow and knowing smile. _So embarrassing!_

Brookie also somehow seemed to know that something was going on, but thankfully he was finding his Showstopper too challenging to really tease her about it. Edie had grinned at her and given a thumb's up, while Milner had smiled one of his secret smiles. _Really, they're worse than old women, the way they gossip!_ Sam was determined to keep her head down and get on.

"So…" Sam refused to look up, busy piping her design onto greaseproof paper, and afraid of messing up. "This has been a good weekend so far for you…" Sam's head jerked up, and she stared at Mel, who smirked in response. "A good Signature, followed by first in the technical."

Sam realised she was being baited and returned her attention to her design. _Ack! What is that?_ She put down the piping bag and picked up a knife, to start scraping off her mistake. "Yes, it was wonderful to come first in the technical!" Perhaps if she was overly enthusiastic, Mel would leave her alone.

Or not. "I imagine you celebrated last night." Sam's hand clenched around the handle of the knife.

"No celebrations just yet, I still have my Showstopper to do. It could always go down-hill from here." Sam picked up the piping bag again, but paused, concerned that Mel would start talking again.

"So… the celebrations may happen tonight?" Mel tried to sound casual, but Sam caught the glint in her eye.

"Maybe… when I get home." That was a sobering thought. There would be no celebrations at home, whether she did well or not. Without actually meaning to, she caught Andrew's eye. He grinned and winked at her. She quickly looked away, only to meet Mel's Cheshire Cat grin. _Was nowhere safe?_ She ducked her head and started piping her design again. "But there won't be any celebrations at all if I don't get this done!"

Mel was gracious in her victory and accepted Sam's dismissal, moving away… straight to Andrew. _Ha! Serves him right!_

* * *

"This is ridiculous." Andrew's voice was a quiet murmur in Sam's ear, as he sidled up next to her at the freezer.

"What, being the focus of everyone's attention?" Sam whispered back.

"Actually, I meant making ice-cream when it's so hot but…" She elbowed him in the ribs. "I can handle the attention." His hand brushed against her waist.

She glanced round, but no-one was looking their way. She leant back into his touch, and felt his lips brush against her hair. Then she lifted her ice-cream out of the freezer and moved to one side, so that he could get to his ice-cream. "It is ridiculous though," Andrew continued. "What am I even doing this for, I'm probably already out." His shoulders slumped. Sam touched his arm.

"You don't know that." He glanced at her, and she smiled. "You have to keep trying your best."

He nodded, shoulders straightening. "Yeah, I suppose I do." He leaned forward, almost as though he would kiss her, before thinking better of it, and smiling instead. "Thanks Sam."

"For what?" She tilted her head to one side.

"For believing in me." She caught a glimpse of the real Andrew then, and that warmed her.

"Any time." She patted his arm, and went back to her station.

* * *

Sam had never felt prouder of a bake than she did of this one. It had turned out exactly like she had wanted, despite the interruptions. Mary and Paul had seemed impressed too, well, as impressed as Paul could ever be. Turning to take her bake back to her bench, she saw Andrew giving her a grin and thumb's up. She smiled shyly back, overwhelmed by the relief she felt at the judging. This was spoilt somewhat by Brookie rolling his eyes, but she decided to ignore that.

Once all the judging was done, and the crew had swept in to eat the cakes, the set was rearranged for the end of the show. Sam sat next to Andrew, close enough to brush his shoulder with hers. She felt nervous, but a different kind of nervous to normal. She wasn't afraid she would be sent home, she was hopeful that she had done well – and she was desperately trying to not get her hopes up.

"Stop stressing," was all Andrew managed to whisper before the judges and presenters appeared in front of them. Sam's heart-rate went through the roof and she clutched at the strings of her apron, tied at the front.

"Well, I have the pleasant job of announcing this week's Star Baker." Mel smiled at them all. "This person had us _carawayed_ with her sugar-free cake…" The dreadful pun caused Sam's heart to stop momentarily. "She _pitta-pattered_ her way to the top of the technical and _ice-cream rolled_ over the competition." Sam had let go of her apron strings and covered her mouth with her hands. "This week's Star Baker is Sam! Well done, lovely!"

Sam was overwhelmed. She had been pleased to do well this week, but hadn't imagined making Star Baker. She was vaguely consciously of Andrew giving her a one-armed hug, and had a sneaking suspicion he had kissed her ear as he'd leant in to say, " _well done!_ "

After the congratulations had been said, Sue cleared her throat. "That means I've been left with the unpleasant task of sending someone home." Sam felt Andrew stiffen beside her, and unconsciously she took his hand. He squeezed back.

"So, the baker going home this week is…" _Oh God! Why do they have to draw it out?_ Sam closed her eyes, unable to bear it any longer. "No-one." _What?!_ She opened her eyes to stare in astonishment at the presenters. "No-one is going home this week." Andrew sagged in his seat next to her, slumping against her shoulder in relief. "It didn't seem fair, so we decided no-one goes home this week."

"But," Mel cautioned, "that does mean that two bakers will go home in a future week." Sam didn't care. Right now, everything was good. Andrew was staying, and she was Star Baker. Mel and Sue came forward to give her a hug, then she was shaking hands with Paul and hugging Mary. She had no idea what she said to anyone, she was so happy. Andrew's hug lifted her off the floor and she laughed.

It was a small price to pay to talk to the camera afterwards, grin still firmly fixed on her face. "I'm actually really proud of these bakes." She wondered if her parents would be proud when they saw. "I've never really been proud of anything I've made before, normally just surprised that it turned out ok. But this time, I'm actually really proud of the way they turned out." She saw, just passed the camera, Andrew watching her with a smile. "I'm going to start believing in myself more." Maybe she could do this after all. Win the boy _and_ the competition.

* * *

A/N

I hope that was ok? Next week is Pastry and Andrew again.


	6. Week Six - Pastry Week

A/N

Wasn't sure if I'd get this out tonight. Had another busy weekend and by last night had written 2,000 words but hadn't even reached the technical! Andrew has a lot to say apparently, even when he doesn't want to talk. Still I utilised the time I spent today going to and from London to visit my best friend to write some more and I finally finished it off tonight. It's the longest yet. Enjoy!

* * *

"Are you sure you want your pastry that thin?" Sam's voice broke into Andrew's thoughts and he looked up in surprise. He stared at her, uncomprehendingly, until she nodded towards his pastry. Andrew looked down and swore. "Really, Andrew." He ignored Sam's soft reprimand as he attempted to collect up his pastry which he had rolled to a mere millimetre's thickness. "What's the matter with you today?" Sam had lowered her voice to a fierce whisper.

"Oh, I don't know Sam. Just…" he tried to think of something that wasn't a lie but would be acceptable. "…distracted." He started to roll out his pastry again.

Sam stayed standing in front of him without saying a word, which was unusual enough for him to pause in his rolling and look at her properly. "I'm worried about you. You've been… _distracted_ … all day." His gaze slid away. Sam carried on, "since Thursday in fact."

He fiddled with his bowl of apricots with his right hand, still sporting a blue glove after the incident last week. And hadn't that got him in trouble back a base. _"I didn't let you enter this competition so that you could render yourself unfit for duty."_ But that wasn't really what was bothering him now. Only… how could he say anything to Sam, when they were so new into this relationship?

"I'm sorry Sam." He offered her a disarming grin. Sam didn't look convinced, raising a sceptical eyebrow. His smile slipped as he realised that, while she would probably let it go for now, this wasn't the end of this particular conversation.

Sam nodded to his pastry. "You better get on and roll that out properly, or you won't have enough time to bake it." With that she turned, and went back to her own bake. _Ouch! That was a little frosty._ Still, he couldn't blame her.

He took her advice and rolled out his pastry, making sure to keep his attention on what he was doing this time. He managed to line his tart, make the frangipane filling, fill the tart, and stick in the oven without further mistakes. But once it was in the oven and all he had to do was wait, he couldn't help thinking back over the Wing Commander's news.

 _Syria. I can't do it!_ He nearly blurted the words out loud _,_ as he had nearly done to Turner when the officer had told him the news. Flying manoeuvres was bad enough, but combat? He suddenly had difficulty breathing, his chest tight. He slid off the stool he was on, pretending to look in the oven as he struggled to regulate his breath.

A firm hand landed on his back, rubbing gently. His father crouched beside him, apparently also admiring his tart. He breathed, slowly and evenly. Andrew latched onto this, leaning against his father, forcing his breathing to match. Slowly but surely, he got his breathing under control.

"Alright?" his father asked.

"It's not the best tart I've ever made, but it'll do." He knew Dad would understand.

"Does look a little sorry for itself." Andrew smiled, suddenly very grateful.

"Thanks Dad." His father took this as his cue, rising to his and offering a hand to Andrew. Once upright, Andrew saw that Sam was watching anxiously from her stool, and he realised why his dad was able to arrive exactly when he needed him. He gave her a soft smile, and some of her anxiety melted away as she smiled back.

As his dad moved back to his bench across the aisle, Andrew noticed that the camera was nowhere nearby. This was very unusual, since they could spot a brewing crisis in the first five seconds. He spotted the crew at the front of the tent, filming Milner and Edie who were joking around while they were waiting for their tarts to bake. _Thank God._ The last thing he needed was for them to film his panic attacks.

Sam slipped off her stool and moved to lean against his counter. He reached out his hand, needing something to ground himself. She took it gently, mindful of his injury, but didn't say anything. They stayed like that for as long as the camera stayed fixed on Milner and Edie. When it looked like the crew were making a move, Sam let go and moved back to her stool. He wished she'd stayed.

Soon enough he was distracted as various timers began to go off. Thanks to his efforts with the pastry, Andrew had to go to the wire with his bake, leaving him with barely two minutes to transfer his tart from the tin to the end of his bench.

He felt flustered and annoyed. Hadn't he got past this? He had worked so hard to get organised after Sam had quite rightly pointed out his faults, and here he was, making all the same mistakes! Maybe he wasn't capable of changing after all? Maybe he wasn't any better than this.

* * *

He was too despondent to socialise during the short break whilst the tent was tidied for the cameras, and he didn't want to start a heart-to-heart with Sam, so he headed over to stand with his father. Dad looked him over and then offered his cup of tea. Andrew relaxed and accepted.

The best thing about Dad being a detective was that Andrew never needed to explain anything, Dad would eventually work it out. Therefore, there weren't any awkward conversations, just a few well placed innocuous questions. Andrew could cope with that.

"How's work?" He was always amazed at how disinterested his father could sound.

"Fine." He took a sip of tea. His father rocked on his feet slightly.

"Been flying again?" Andrew looked at his father sharply. _How has he figured that out already?_

"A little. Yesterday, mostly." He took another sip of tea, trying to appear as though the talk of flying didn't bother him.

His father pursed his lips. "No problems?" Andrew deliberately misunderstood.

"No, no problems." He flexed his injured hand as he spoke. His father raised an eyebrow, and chewed the corner of his mouth.

"When do you leave?" He shouldn't be surprised, but he always was.

"Next month." The panic was back, clawing at his throat, suffocating him. His father reached out and gripped his shoulder firmly. "Syria," he ground out.

His father didn't say anything, but continued to hold him. Ground him. After a few moments, Andrew felt a little better. He tried to drink his tea, but his hand shook violently when he tried. Using both hands, he managed to sip a little, and only spill a bit.

"Have you told Sam?" Andrew shook his head decisively.

"How can I? When everything is so new between us." His father frowned.

"You'll have to tell her eventually." _Eventually._ But not today if he could help it. "It could… take your mind off it." It was Andrew's turn to frown. His father elaborated, though it was clearly painful for him to do so. He always hated having to explain things he thought was obvious. "Telling Sam. May help you deal with it."

Andrew was sceptical, but didn't have an opportunity to reply as they were called back in for judging.

* * *

Andrew found it difficult not to look ashamed when Paul fixed him with a narrow-eyed gaze. He shuffled slightly on the spot. Paul looked down, rubbed at his lips, shifted on the spot, placed his hands on his hips and shook his head before looking back up. Andrew braced himself. "It's the same old problem. You didn't give yourself enough time, so it's not properly baked." Andrew's gaze fell, despite his best efforts. "When you're on the ball, you're one of the best bakers in the competition. But when you're not…" Paul tailed off.

Mary seemed to take this as her cue to join in. Politeness forced Andrew to look at her. "A few more minutes and this would have been perfect." Somehow, her gentle admonishment hurt more than Paul's disappointment. "You had been doing so well the last couple of weeks, it's a shame that you've let yourself down now."

Andrew swallowed the lump in his throat. "I'm very sorry."

"5 minutes." Paul tapped the counter with his finger. "5 minutes was all that it needed." He leant back and folded his arms. "You _need_ to be more organised." Andrew nodded, unable to speak. Thankfully, they moved away, Mel and Sue making soft noises of sympathy.

As soon as the camera had gone, Andrew turned his back on the rest of the room and closed his eyes. He hated being told off. He hated not being good enough. A legacy, perhaps, of being a scholarship kid at a private school – he had never been good enough, because he hadn't been one of them. No wonder why he'd stopped trying at anything other than lessons. Easier to fail all the time because he didn't try than because he'd tried, and it wasn't good enough.

* * *

Lunch was tedious and awkward. He was on the receiving end of numerous sympathetic looks, which were annoying, and some triumphant glances too, which were marginally less annoying. He ate fast and cleared out.

"Andrew!" He should have known that Sam would follow him. He was half tempted to pretend that he hadn't heard her, but he dismissed the thought almost before he'd had it. He couldn't do that to her.

He half turned towards her. She was hurrying along the path, arms wrapped around herself. It was a cool, overcast day – _likely to rain_ , he'd thought, looking up at the grey sky. When Sam reached him, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder, rubbing at her arm. "It's cold Sam, and you don't have a coat."

"It's the middle of July!" Sam threw up her hands in disgust. "I shouldn't need a coat!"

"This is Britain," he teased. Sam glared at him.

"If you're trying to distract me, it's not going to work." He sighed.

"I didn't think it would." He accepted the inevitable and hugged her closer. _Might as well be comfortable as we do this._

"What's going on?" That was Sam – straight to the point. He should be as equally upfront.

Still, he hesitated. "I.. er…" he took a deep breath. "I've got my orders." He felt her stiffen, but ploughed on. "Next month." He heard, or perhaps felt, her sudden intake of breath. "Syria."

Sam stopped walking, forcing him to stop too. She took his face in her hands and studied his gaze intently. "And are you ok with this?"

He wanted to nod. He wanted to be able to just shrug it off, pretend that it didn't matter. But it did matter. He stared into Sam's concerned brown eyes, and wondered exactly what he'd done to deserve her. How could she know how much it mattered, when she'd only known him a few weeks?

Apparently, she knew him well enough not to need an answer. Instead she nodded slowly, her thumbs stroking his cheeks. Then she kissed him gently. "Do you need to talk about it?" she said as she pulled away.

"Not…" He had to clear his throat. "Not yet." Sam seemed to understand, _of course she did_ and nodded again. She let go of his face, took his hand and went to start walking again, but he held back. "Can we…" he made a helpless gesture. "Not go back…" Sam smiled. She let go of his hand and wrapped her arms around him instead. He gripped her, a little too fiercely if Sam's squeak was anything to go by. He loosened his hold a little, but Sam merely snuggled closer. He wished he could freeze time, stay like this forever. _Not go to Syria next month._

* * *

 _Flaounes_? He'd never heard of them. He couldn't fathom why anyone would want a cheese filled pastry with raisins, topped with sesame seeds but never mind.

He kept his head down, and refused to think about anything. He avoided eye contact with Sam after a chance glance made him lose his breath, remembering the strength of her arms around him and how much he'd just wanted to stay that way. He had felt drained after their brief conversation. He had thought that he felt better, but now he just felt empty. The panic was gone, but nothing had replaced it.

The two hours seemed to fly by. He seemed to have barely started mixing his ingredients before he was putting the flaounes in the oven. He'd just got them out and then he was placing them behind his picture on the table at the front. He felt disoriented at the loss of time, time he seemed to have spent well to judge by the results on the table.

He was oddly detached during the judging as well, despite coming second. Sam congratulated him, and he knew he ought to smile, but he couldn't quite feel it. She looked concerned and in direct violation of their agreement to keep things cool in front of the camera, she took his hand in hers. He couldn't quite feel that either.

She kept hold of his hand even after they left the tent, growing darkly at the camera crew that came over to get an interview with him. They weren't put off and Andrew was taken aside and answered their questions. They were all frowning too by the time it was done, although he didn't think he'd said anything too outrageous.

"Are you... alright?" Sam asked when he came back to her. He looked at her in question. She elaborated, "you were monosyllabic and..." She paused, clearly trying to decide what to say, or perhaps how to say it. "Not present." She finished.

"I'm fine," he responded automatically. "Just tired."

Sam sighed. "I know that's not true, but if you're not ready to talk, that's fine." She took his hand again, and he was able to tilt the corner of his mouth in a tiny smile.

* * *

As they got off the minibus, back at the hotel, Andrew's phone rang. _The Wing Commander, what does he want?_ Apologising to Sam, he moved away and took the call.

Andrew listened in disbelief. How could this be? It was only a training exercise; how could it have gone wrong like that?

" _Foyle. I'm telling you this because I_ _know Woods is your friend."_ The blood was rushing in Andrew's ears, the Wing Commander's voice seemed to be coming from miles away. _"What I_ _don't expect_ _is for you to do anything. Make you cakes and we'll see you back here tomorrow evening at the usual time."_

"You can't be serious sir?" At any normal time, Andrew would never have talked to his commanding officer this way, but this wasn't a normal time. It was, in fact, eerily similar to another time...

" _Extremely serious Foyle. We will keep you appraised of Woods condition. No good will come of you haring off and rushing about the country. Stay put. That's an order."_ The Wing Commander's voice was firm and ordinarily it would have had Andrew snapping for attention. He didn't have a chance to respond before Turner was saying goodbye and then Andrew was left listening to the dial tone.

"Andrew?" Sam's voice was soft and uncertain. Andrew had completely forgotten she was there and he stared at her uncomprehendingly now. "Is something wrong?"

Her question snapped him out of his stupor. "I have to go."

"What?" Sam was clearly confused.

"My friend, Greville Woods, he's been hurt." As he spoke Andrew began to hurry towards the hotel. "I have to go and see if he's alright."

"Now?" Sam sounded bewildered.

"I have to know Sam!" He knew he was snapping at her, but he couldn't, he just couldn't, accept that this was happening again. "I can't lose him! Not after..." he clenched his fists, impotent rage roaring through him. _How could this be happening again?_

Sam caught his arm, forcing him to stop and face her. "I understand. Just... be careful." He nodded, and then took off at a run.

* * *

He had no right to be here, standing outside Sam's door so late at night, but here he was all the same. A desperate drive on his motorbike to the hospital, breaking all the speed limits, only to be denied admittance as he wasn't family. He had argued with the nurse for several minutes, almost getting thrown out. He'd decided to find Greville himself, roaming the hospital looking for him.

He had had the good luck, or perhaps it was bad, to be near intensive care just as Greville was being admitted. The sight of his friend, covered in horrific burns had turned Andrew's stomach and he'd only just made it to the toilets before he was sick. He'd stayed there for an indeterminate amount of time before his phone buzzed with a text message telling him _Fl Lt Woods is in a critical but stable condition. The severity of his wounds is still to be determined._

After this Andrew felt able to get up, and eventually he found his way out of the hospital. He wasn't really sure how he got back to the hotel, he must have driven but he couldn't remember a second of the journey. Now he was, stood outside Sam's door, preparing to knock and wake her up most likely. He hesitated, knowing it was selfish, but he _needed_ her. He knocked.

In the long minutes it took Sam to answer, he second guessed himself. What was he going to do? To say? What would she think of him? He had stared to moved away when the door cracked open.

"Andrew?" Sam's voice was rough with sleep and her hair was mussed. She looked him over sleepily, both her eyes widened. "Is your friend alright?"

Andrew felt sick again as he thought of Greville. "I'm sorry Sam." He swallowed hard, fighting the bile rising in his throat. "I shouldn't have woken you. Only..." he gestured helplessly. "I don't know what to do."

She gazed at him, and whatever she saw had her opening the door wider. "Come in."

He should have asked if she was sure. He should have said no. They had only known each other a few weeks and had agreed to take things slow. But here he was, walking through her door, feeling pathetically grateful that she hadn't turned him away.

Once inside, it was clear from the rumpled bedcovers that he had woken her up. He froze, awash with guilt. "I should go," he said wretchedly. "You need to sleep."

She caught his arm as he turned to leave. "You think I would sleep after seeing you like this?" She steered him towards the bed. "Sit down. I'll make some tea." He sat gingerly on the bed as Sam made tea for them both. The kettle was loud in the silence of the room. She put a generous helping of sugar into the one she gave him. He held it in hands that shook from fatigue. He couldn't make himself drink, the memory of Grenville too close for comfort. Sam sat next to him on the bed, near the headboard, her body angled towards him. When he didn't speak or even drink his tea, Sam spoke up.

"Is your friend alright?" She asked again.

Andrew shook his head.

"No, he..." he took a deep breath, which nearly made him gag. "He's badly hurt." He remembered the angry redness, the rawness. "He's... burnt." He set his untouched tea down carefully, afraid.

Sam gasped. "Oh Andrew! I'm so sorry!"

Her reaction recalled his anger. Not at her, _never at her,_ but at a world that seemed deformed to strip away everything, everyone, he cared about. "It was just a training exercise!" It exploded out of him, making Sam jump at his ferocity. "He should have been safe!"

"What happened?" And just like that the nausea was back, and he gasped for breath.

"It should have been me." He couldn't sit still any longer, jumping to his feet and pacing back and forth in the tight confines of the bedroom. "It was my plane, my op! It should have been me!" Nausea won and he dashed for the bathroom.

Lack of food meant very little came up. He was aware, once he'd finished, of the tap running and then a blessedly cool cloth pressed against the back of his neck. After a few moments, and without prompting, he explained. "It was training exercise, just a practice op. I was meant to do it but I'm here instead, so the Wing Co gave it to Greville, only his plane is being serviced so I said he could use mine." He paused for breath, resting his head against the toilet seat. Sam rearranged the cloth on his neck and said nothing. "There was a fault. Something wrong with the computer. He tried to land, but there was poor visibility and he... the plane caught on fire and he couldn't release the canopy." Andrew sucked in a breath. He could imagine it all too well. The fear, the panic... the flames licking up the plane. His stomach heaved, but there was nothing left. "It should have been me," he finished miserably.

Sam sat beside him and gently stroked his back. "I'm very grateful it's not you." Andrew choked out a laugh that became a sob. His shoulders shook as he fought the tears. "It's ok," Sam said soothingly. "It's ok to be afraid."

"I'm always afraid!" He burst out. "Every minute of every damn day!" He was crying now, the tears sliding down his cheeks despite his best efforts. "I can barely get in a plane without being sick."

Sam wrapped her arm around him and hugged. He turned into her, burying his face in her neck. "I can't do it anymore," he sobbed. Later, perhaps, he would be embarrassed by his total meltdown, but right now he couldn't care less. "I can't eat, I don't sleep." It had been hard, practicing for the bakes when he felt completely unable to eat anything he'd made. He'd relied completely on his fellow pilots to tell him of anything was good. "Oh Sam! Sometimes I miss you so desperately." She hugged him closer. "And sometimes I don't care if I never see you again." She stiffened against him. He pulled away.

"I know that's a terrible thing to say." He wipes at the tears, but they kept coming and he sobbed again. "But sometimes I just don't feel anything at all!"

She pulled him back into the hug, holding him and rocking slightly. He didn't know how long they stayed like that, in that awkward, uncomfortable position on the floor, all he knew was that he couldn't stop whispering "please don't make me go back," no matter how many times she promised she wouldn't.

Eventually he stopped crying out of sheer fatigue. He leant against Sam, limp. After a few moments she shifted and he pulled away. He hung his head, too weary to feel ashamed. Sam stroked the side of his face. "Let's get you cleaned up." She washed his face for him, and found him a toothbrush. He could barely look at himself in the mirror, afraid he would start crying again. When he came out of the bathroom, Sam was sat in the bed, the covers turned back. "Come on," she patted the bed beside her. He hesitated and she gave him a straight look. "You're exhausted. I'm pretty tired too. Let's just go to sleep and we can work something out in the morning." He nodded, his head feeling like a ton weights bobbing up and down on his shoulders.

He sat next to Sam and then, at her encouragement, lay down. She slid down next to him and wrapped her arms around him. He clasped her tightly, again burning his face against her neck. Her breathing was deep and even. Eventually he slept.

* * *

He didn't know what time it was when he felt Sam kiss him lightly and pull away. He registered the sound of her going to the bathroom and rolled over, falling back asleep. An indeterminate time later, he woke properly to a hand gently shaking his shoulder. He opened his eyes to meet his father's gaze. Confused, Andrew sat up and saw Sam standing behind his father, looking a little guilty. He realised she must have gone to fetch his father when she left before, but he couldn't be mad at her. He managed a lopsided smile and she smiled back, a little sadly it's true, but she looked more Sam-like.

She left the room while he talked to his father. Dad listened, intervening with the odd question, but mostly listened. Finally, Andrew wound down and there was silence for a few minutes before his father spoke. "What are you going to do now?"

Andrew felt panic rise, the same panic that had had him babbling to Sam the night before. "I don't want to go back." It sounded horribly childish now, but he couldn't recall it or make it unsaid.

"You've got, what, four years left?" His father titled his head slightly as he asked the question.

"Five," Andrew corrected. "12 years' service in total." _Five years!_ He couldn't face the idea of five days. Or even five hours. How would he manage five years?

"You need to talk someone." His father's voice was firm, reasonable. Andrew felt defensive.

"I have talked to someone. I see a shrink once a month." His father didn't look impressed.

"And you tell them what you think they want to hear." Andrew dropped his gaze, unable to deny it. "Andrew. You can't serve like this. You're dangerous." Andrew went to protest but his father steamrollered on. "What if you had a panic attack while flying? What if you had a breakdown in the mess in front of the junior pilots?" His voice and face softened. "You need help. _Proper_ help."

He knew his father was right, but there seemed something so shameful about admitting it. The other pilots looked up to him, admired him. How could he say to them he couldn't do it anymore? How could he let them carry on without him? S

"Just..." His father had taken his silence to mean that he wasn't going to agree. "Think about it. Alright?"

Andrew nodded. "Alright Dad."

His father got to his feet and dusted off his trousers and then frowned at Andrew. "You can't wear those clothes, looks like you've slept in them."

Andrew glanced down at himself. "I have slept in them." He looked up in time to see one of his father's rare, fleeting smile. "I can't change. We have to wear the same thing for continuity."

"There's not going to be any continuity with you looking like that. You need to find an iron." He glanced at his watch. "Pretty sharpish too."

Andrew looked at the bedside clock. There was an hour until the minibus came. He had enough time.

* * *

He felt exhausted and dull-witted. For the first five minutes of the bake he couldn't remember what he was supposed to be making, staring at the instructions in confusion. Vol-au-vents. With the puff pastry made from scratch. Everything seemed to take longer than it should, but Andrew realised he didn't care. He'd had enough. Being on Bake Off has been great, better than great in fact as he'd met Sam, but he was tired now and he wanted to just go back to base and rest without worrying about when he would fit practice in around all his actual duties. He decided not to think about what would be waiting for him when he got back to base, or what the next month would bring. He just wanted the competition to end.

Sue had stopped by several times, trying to cajole him into a better mood, but he didn't have it in him. The night had just wrung him dry and all he felt now was a lingering mild concern that he'd ruined things with Sam by being a complete mess. The fact that Sam kept offering him reassuring smiles didn't make that feeling go away.

Surprisingly, his vol-au-vents were vaguely presentable and, he thought, may actually be mostly cooked. They bore no resemblance to the ones he made when practicing but at least he had something to show the judges. Their comments weren't kind, but they were fair.

"Under-baked." Paul cut one in half and showed the raw dough in the base. "Five... maybe eight more minutes." He fixed Andrew with his steely-blue gaze. Andrew stared back, apathetic. He was on his way out and he felt nothing. Only the day before he had burned with shame at the judges' comments, now he just wanted them to finish.

"It's the same as yesterday." Mary had her firm schoolmarm voice on. "It's a nice idea, but you've let yourself down on the execution." Andrew nodded and removed his bake when indicated. He caught Sam's gaze and offered a lopsided smile. She gave him a sad one in return. Suddenly he felt a burst of regret. Leaving would mean not seeing Sam.

* * *

Edie was crowned Star Baker. Andrew managed to smile when this was announced. He hadn't got to know her very well, but she had been very helpful when it came to his injury. Then came the announcement of who was going. When Mel looked directly at him and said his name, he closed his eyes as he felt an overwhelming rush of relief. He felt almost like a fraud accepting everyone's commiserations, almost. _I'll miss this,_ he thought. And then he felt angry at his own contradicting emotions. Luckily Sam pulled him into a fierce hug.

"Stop beating yourself up," she whispered. "It's ok to feel relieved." She astonished him. How did she always know what he was thinking or feeling? "It's been tough for you, it's ok to want a break."

He might want a break, but he seemed unlikely to get one. In the back of his mind was the fact that he'd disobeyed a direct order from his CO. A little further back was the fact that he was about to be redeployed in an active war zone. Further back than that was the fact that his best friend had did in that same war zone, just a year ago. _Don't think about it. At least... not yet._

The camera crew caught him for one last talking head piece. Andrew saw Sam hovering behind them, a worried look on her face. He decided to be honest. "Relieved, actually," he said in response to the question _'how do you feel?'_ "It's been hard, juggling work and this. I think this week it caught up with me. My heart wasn't really in it." He glanced quickly at Sam, who nodded. "I'm so grateful for the time I've had here and the people I've met. I think I've become a better baker." He quickly glanced at Sam again. "I know I've become a better person." She smiled, a full, megawatt, Sam Stewart smile and he was able to smile back. "Now it's time for me to head back to the real world and carry on." _'Carry on baking?'_

"Maybe not baking for a while." The camera operator grinned. That was probably a standard reply, Andrew thought. "Carry on being a better version of me. I owe it to some people." They gave him the nod, they had what they wanted.

He moved over to Sam. She hugged him quickly. "Did you mean that? Are you going to get help?"

It wasn't quite what he said, but it was what he'd meant, he realised. "I want to get help, Sam." And he did. It just... wasn't going to be easy.

"That's the first step." Sam linked her arm through his. "Wanting something, then going for it."

Looking at the beautiful woman next to him, _beautiful inside and out,_ he made a decision. He wanted Sam. To get Sam, to properly deserve her, he needed to sort himself out. So, he needed to get help. _First step is wanting something._ Then he was going to go for it.

* * *

A/N

So that's it. Andrew's out. What does this mean for his relationship with Sam? I hope it wasn't too emotional for anyone. I have zero ideas how the RAF works, so that's all made up, although the 12 years service is true. They are also operating in Syria at the moment, so that's true too. I'm not sure they'd let someone as emotionally unstable as Andrew anywhere near a plane though. At least, I hope they wouldn't!

Next week is Milner and a as yet undecided bake.


	7. Week Seven - Patisserie Week

A/N

Patisserie week and Milner. Especially for AnneBronteRocks. I hope this meets some of your expectations.

* * *

"… and to be honest, it was just altogether too horny." Paul couldn't help himself, he snorted. Which only resulted in Sam and Mel turning around with scandalised expressions on their faces.

"Milner!" they said in unison. He smiled ruefully.

"I'm sorry, but that was…" he raised his eyebrows when he failed to think of an appropriate way of phrasing what he'd overheard.

"Well really." Sam put her hands on her hips, leaving floury marks.

"I thought better of you," Mel shook her head. Over their shoulders he could see Edie, trying (not very hard it must be said) to hide a smile. He apologised, attempting to look suitably contrite, and the two ladies turned back to Sam's station. Edie winked at him before turning around herself.

He finished making his two puff pastry doughs, wrapped them in cling film and headed to the fridge. There he met Edie. She smiled at him. "getting in trouble for you dirty mind, are you, Paul Milner?"

He shook his head as he smiled in return. "I couldn't help it, it was funny."

She mock frowned at him. "I thought better of you." She put her pastry in the fridge, next to his. "Oh dear." They looked at the wrapped doughes "They look remarkably similar, don't they? Do you think we'll remember who's is who's?" The four wrapped doughs did look very similar – same size and shape.

"I think we'll be ok. Mine's on the right, yours are on the left." He pointed to them as he spoke.

"What if someone moves them?" Paul looked around at the other five bakers.

"There's enough fridges that no-one else will need to use this one, other than maybe Sam and hers is dark as she's put chocolate in it." Edie still hesitated for a moment, before nodding decisively and shutting the door.

"I'll see you in about 15 minutes then." She patted his arm before walking away.

He and Edie met up a further eight times, as they collected their doughs, took them away, folded them around the butter and returned them to the fridge. Each time, they shared a warm smile and quick word.

Things with Edie had just been so easy. In between each weekend, they spoke on the phone. They had even met up for coffee and dinner several times, since they both lived in Brighton. Milner had looked forward to each and every weekend, two whole days spent with Edie, even if it was in the tension-filled atmosphere of the Bake Off tent.

The camera crew had been fairly hands off, seemingly more focused on the ups and downs of Andrew and Sam, perhaps because they were younger and more obvious in their emotions. Now that Andrew was gone however, the tent was quieter, and a certain kind of frenetic energy was gone. The camera crew was on the hunt for any kind of story they could get, and Milner was not inclined to give them one. Edie seemed of a like mind, keeping her soft touches to his hand or arm out of sight of the lens.

* * *

On his final trip to the fridge, Edie was not there. When he opened the door, he saw that just his two doughs, on the right of the middle shelf, and Sam's, on the top shelf, remained. _She must have already collected them._ He took his pastry back to his station, rolled it out and cut it into strips. He shaped it into the horns around a metal cone. He worked quickly, aware that he needed the cones to bake and cool before he could fill them.

He just put the first twelve in the oven, and was cutting and shaping the next with his second dough, when he noticed a commotion going on at the fridge. He frowned when he realised Edie was standing there looking horrified, with the camera hovering nearby and Sue apparently trying to rectify the situation. He headed across immediately.

"What's going on?" he asked.

Edie turned to him, eyes wide and seemingly close to tears. "My second dough is gone!"

"I thought you'd already collected it." He looked in the fridge, although he knew what he'd find. "It wasn't here when I collected mine."

"No." Edie's voice shook. "I just took my first dough. I wanted the other one to stay cool for as long as possible."

"Perhaps someone moved it one of the other fridges?" Sue suggested. Paul thought it seemed unlikely but didn't say so and immediately headed to one of the other fridges. A quick look in all the fridges revealed them to be empty. Edie by this time was distraught.

"There's still an hour and half left," Sue said. It wasn't enough time, everybody knew that. But Edie took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and marched back to her station where she started to mix ingredients like a mad woman. Paul allowed himself a moment to admire her fortitude before he realised his timer had started to beep. He dashed, as best he could, back to his oven and rescued his horns before they burnt.

* * *

He worked quickly to cut and shaped the remaining horns and shoved them in the oven. Edie's dilemma had put him behind as well and he had to work hard to make up the time. This meant that his horns weren't as uniform as he would have liked, but at least they were whole, and the puff was good.

Edie had managed to make a dough, but she hadn't been able to put as many layers into the puff as she had previously. She had managed to fill the first set, and was waiting for the second lot to cook. It was likely that they would be too warm for her to fill properly if she let them bake for the full time, but if she didn't they wouldn't be cooked. He could see her agonising over the decision.

"Put them in the freezer when you get them out of the oven," he heard Sam suggest. "They should cool down more quickly that way. Edie nodded, and did just that.

The time, as usual, just seemed to melt away as he frantically filled the horns and decorated. Almost before he'd started, Sue was shouting the one-minute mark and he rushed to present his horns. Stepping back from the bake, he saw Sam helping Edie to arrange hers. _Typical Sam._

* * *

During the break to clean the tent he consoled Edie. "At least you managed to present something."

"Yes, but it's nowhere near as good as the first batch," she wailed. "I just can't understand what happened to it." Paul could only shrug.

* * *

Paul watched the judges try his cream horns. The first one, the café tipple, went down fine, but when it came to the second one, booth Paul and Mary frowned.

"What did you say this one was supposed to be?" Paul Hollywood asked. Paul frowned.

"Banoffee." Both the judges looked at each other and then at the cream horns.

"That's not banoffee," Paul Hollywood asserted.

Mary nodded in agreement. "There's something else as well. It's not altogether pleasant, the combination of flavours."

Paul was astonished. _What else could be in there?_ He took one of the horns himself and took a small bite. He nearly spat it. The flavour was all wrong. There was banana and toffee, but there was something else, something that didn't go.

"I think its almond." At Mary's words, Paul felt suddenly cold. He quickly looked at Edie and saw that she had gone pale.

"I…" It was an awful realisation. "I must have used Edie's dough." Edie's dough hadn't gone missing, _his_ had, but he had mistakenly taken Edie's as it had been where his should have been.

The judges looked at each other again, this time in confusion. What were they supposed to do now? Judging was suspended whilst a conference was called. Eventually, they decided to just carry on. Paul couldn't help but feel that this was a black mark against him, and hoped desperately that no-one thought he'd taken Edie's dough deliberately.

Edie certainly didn't. When the judging was over, she came to his side and took a bite of the one he'd sampled earlier. She pulled a face. "That is not a good combination." She looked around the room at the other contestants, who were hastily getting out of the way of the ravenous crew who were descending, as usual, to eat all of the remaining cakes. "Someone managed to sabotage us both."

Paul looked at her in surprise. "You think someone did this deliberately?"

She gave him a side-long look. "You don't?" He stared at her for a moment, before looking around at the other bakers. He didn't like the idea that someone had deliberately set out to get him and Edie into trouble, but it really was the only explanation that made sense.

* * *

He pondered it all through lunch. He felt that he could discount Sam, she was far too honest to stoop so low. The same went for Christopher Foyle. He didn't know the remaining bakers well enough to speculate, and he didn't know how to go about finding out who had done it. It seemed that he would never know, a thought that frustrated and annoyed him. Did someone really dislike him enough to mess up his chances in the competition? Did they want to win so badly?

Sam seemed to sum up his feelings when she said, "it's just not very Bake-Off is it?"

The technical challenge of Mokatines played to his strengths of consistency and precision. They seemed simple enough, but were, in fact, incredibly fiddly. They left no time for him to worry about anything else, for which he was grateful. He managed to come first, which made him feel slightly better about his chances for remaining in the competition.

Edie didn't fare so well, coming fifth out of seven. He could see the disappointment on her face. When they left the tent, he caught up with her. "Want to get away from this and go for dinner?" She glanced at him. "Just us." She nodded.

* * *

The restaurant they ended up in was small and quiet. He felt some of the tension start to seep out of him. Edie also began to relax. He smiled at her. "This is nice."

She nodded in agreement. "Very." She took a sip of wine and sighed. "Oh, I need this after today."

He only had water himself, as someone had to drive, but he promised himself a large glass of something alcoholic soon, perhaps when they got back to the hotel.

They ate dinner, studiously avoiding any talk of the day and sticking to more pleasant topics – her work, his university course. He had been doing biology, but after talking to Christopher, he was thinking of switching disciplines to forensics. Edie was enthusiastic in her support for this plan. "You've always enjoyed solving puzzles. You always used to say you were going to be a policeman when we were children." He laughed at the recollection.

By the time they had finished and headed back to the hotel, he had almost forgotten all about 'doughgate' as Sam insisted on calling it. Edie tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow as they walked from the car to hotel, and it felt so perfect, like she was made for him. He tamped down on the thought, _too soon._

Edie didn't let go, even when they got into the lift. In fact, she rested her head against his shoulder. _She really is the perfect fit._ He glanced at the mirrors that made up the walls of the lift and realised that Edie was watching him. She smiled when he met her eyes and he smiled back, happiness swelling inside him. It may have been a horrible day, competition-wise, but it was working out in his favour in the end.

He walked Edie to her room and hesitated outside her door. He desperately wanted to kiss her, but wasn't sure if they had reached that stage in their relationship. He felt like a teenager again, uncertain and wrong-footed. It had been so long since he had had to do all of this new relationship stuff!

Edie solved his problem by gripping the collar of his coat, rising on her tip-toes and giving him a soft kiss. "Goodnight Paul." He was stunned, and remained standing outside of her door several moments after she had gone inside. Then he grinned.

He felt too buzzed to sleep and so headed down to the bar to get his promised drink. There he met Christopher, sat on a comfortable armchair, nursing a large glass of whisky. Christopher waved him over.

"How are you doing?" Paul liked Christopher, even though he couldn't always work out what was going on in his head. Christopher would ask a question and get much more out of you than the answer you willingly gave. Still, Paul rarely had anything to hide.

"Better after a good dinner." Christopher's mouth twitched at the corner, like he was fighting a smile, and one of his eyebrows rose. Paul felt his cheeks heat and took a quick sip to hide it.

"They won't be able to disqualify you based on what happened today. You or Edie. It wasn't your fault, or hers, and you both presented a bake." Paul sighed, feeling some of the despondency from earlier in the day come back to him.

"A pretty terrible bake on my part." Christopher tilted his head from side to side, as though weighing up his answer. "Edie thinks…" he hesitated, wondering whether to share his thoughts. Christopher looked at him steadily with the bright, intelligent eyes. Paul decided to trust him. "Edie thinks that someone did it deliberately."

Christopher nodded. "Makes sense." Paul felt his shoulders slump. He didn't like the idea that someone had it in for him. Christopher took a sip of his own drink, before screwing his mouth up. Paul waited, having learnt by now that this expression meant that Christopher was thinking. "The question is, who had motive? We all had the opportunity."

"I must have upset someone somehow." He didn't like to admit it, but that had to be the case.

"Needn't have been anything big." Paul frowned. Christopher expanded, "the type of person who would do something so petty… wouldn't take much to upset them." Paul nodded. Christopher swallowed the rest of his drink and rose to his feet. "Well, not something to be sorted now." He nodded at Paul. "See you tomorrow." Paul saluted him with his glass, and watched him leave. Then he resolutely turned his mind from the problem of who had stolen his dough, and instead contemplated the far more pleasing memory of Edie's lips on his.

* * *

The Religieuse à l'ancienne had caused him a headache from the moment he had started practicing them. They were alright at the time, but by the time they had stood for the requisite two hours, they always ended up leaning. He had tried many different construction techniques and at best it remained upright, but not straight. He could only hope that the others had similar problems.

He always felt that the longer they had to complete the bake the quicker the time went. They had four hours for this and they seemed to disappear in a haze of choux pastry, ganache and crème pâtissière. He was sweating as he built his tower, grateful for the fact that his obsession with precision meant that his eclairs were all the same length, which helped a little.

Sam's construction was slightly hindered by the fact that hers were different lengths, but she seemed to be working with it, by using the shorter ones to form the second layer. Edie's construction was also going up well, but with a definitely lean to the right. Christopher's was straight, and all of his eclairs were even, but they were a little short. Still, it could all go wrong for any of them in the two-hour waiting period.

He was reluctant to leave his creation behind, afraid that it would collapse the moment he stopped looking at it. Sue forcibly dragged him away, "Come _on_ Paul! You have to let go! It needs to stand on its own éclair feet!"

* * *

They sat in the catering tent, drinking tea. It was quite quiet, everyone was exhausted. Paul slipped out to use the toilet, and took a moment to breath in the fresh air. He headed back to the tent, but paused when he heard voices, one of which he recognised as Christopher's voice.

"What I haven't been able to work out is just quite how you did it." Christopher sounded warm and friendly, _matey_ even – not how Paul had ever heard him sound before. "I mean, right under everyone's noses! That was pretty clever."

"It was easy really." Paul tensed. That was Dan Peters voice. No matter how much Paul had tried, he hadn't been able to warm to Peters. The man had taken the mick out of Sam a lot in the first few weeks, always out of the hearing of Andrew mind, and Paul had had a go at him, when he had caught him eating some of Edie's ingredients the previous week.

"You just walked up to the fridge and took it?" Paul's heartrate picked up as he realised what this conversation was about.

"Everybody was so busy, rushing around, nobody paid attention to what I was doing. I took his and moved hers over. Then I hid his in my proving drawer." Peters sound proud – the man was _boasting_! "Then, when they had finished running around looking for it, I dumped it in the bin."

"I see. Pretty easy." Paul realised his hands were clenched and his teeth were gritted.

"I just wanted to see him come down a peg or two. He's always such a smug bastard, when really, he's no better than the rest of us. Just because he's been a soldier…" Clearly this resentment had been building up for some time.

"Well, he certainly did." Christopher's voice had changed. "And now it's your turn. You're going to go to the producers, you're going to tell them what you did and you're going to quit the competition."

Peters began to bluster, but Christopher cut him off. "if you don't, then I will be forced to play them the video of you confessing everything." There was a pause. Then… "you see, I asked the camera crew to mike me up and Jim is over there with a long-range lens. They were very happy to do so, I imagine they hope that this will boost the ratings."

Paul decided that this was a good moment to reveal his presence. He rounded the corner of the catering tent and came across the pair. Christopher stood, calm and relaxed. Peters was red in the face and tugging at the collar of his shirt. He saw Paul and gulped. "I'll talk to the producers." He fled before Paul could fully reach them.

"Do I look like I'm going to kill him?" Paul queried.

"You do look rather murderous," Christopher responded.

"Thank you." He held out his hand and Christopher shook his hand.

"Don't mention it." He turned back towards the tent. "Tea's probably cold." Paul smiled at the grumble. The man really did hate even mild displays of emotion.

* * *

Things became a little bit of a farce after that. They had to sit down for the judging, even though Peters was gone. Then they were reminded that there was still the chance that someone else could go, as there was one baker too many after the week when Andrew had injured his hand.

Paul was pleased to see that his structure was still standing, although it did lean a little. He carefully carried it to the front, swallowing his pride and allowing Mel to help him, realising that weight was too much for his uneven gait.

The judges were favourable, and he felt more confident, particularly when Ian Brook had the misfortune to watch his structure collapse as he set it down in front of the judges. Paul winced in sympathy, but couldn't deny the thought that that made things a little better for him.

Edie's structure was more lop-sided than when she left it, but it remained standing and Sam's had fared very well. The judges were flattering about her flavours, particularly the bubble-gum. The competition seemed wide open.

* * *

They sat for the final announcement. Edie took his hand, and smiled at him reassuringly when he looked at her. He smiled back. Even if he left today, he would still have her.

No-one but Sam was surprised when she got Star Baker again, and she blushed pink with pleasure. Then came the tension filled moment of finding out who, if anyone, would leave.

"And… the baker leaving us this week…" He thought his heart might burst out of his chest. "is…" _Just get on with it!_ "…Brookie." He swore afterwards that his heart stopped in that moment. "Sorry mate. So sad to see you go."

There was the usual flurry of movement as people gathered round to congratulate Sam and commiserate with Brookie. Then there were the waiting cameras. He answered questions about 'doughgate', before being allowed to go. He found Edie waiting for him.

"We made it!" He was unprepared for her to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him soundly, but responded with equal fervour. Pulling apart, they grinned stupidly at each other. "Home?" he asked.

"Home," she agreed. One day, he thought, as he wrapped his arm around her and they walked towards the minibus, home would be the same place for both of them.

* * *

A/N

A little shorter than the last couple of weeks, but I just didn't have time for anything more I'm afraid. Apologies to OxfordKivrin, but no 'bin' incident. Instead I took inspiration from 'custardgate' and the plot of 'Bleak Midwinter' to give you 'doughgate'! I hope it suffices.


	8. Week Eight - Sweet Dough Week

A/N

Merry Christmas everyone. Please enjoy some Christopher Foyle, although Sam muscles in a lot.

* * *

"Um, Mr Foyle, sir?" Christopher looked up from kneading the dough for his Chelsea Buns, to see Sam standing before him, looking uncharacteristically glum. "Have you heard from Andrew?"

"Not since last Sunday." It wasn't so unusual for Andrew to go quiet on him, particularly when he was busy with work.

"Oh." If anything, Sam looked even more glum. "Me neither." Christopher paused in his kneading. Now, that _was_ unusual. Andrew was normally very attentive to his girlfriends.

"He's probably been busy." He had never been good at reassuring an upset woman.

Sam shook her head. "He's been grounded." Christopher raised his eyebrows, and Sam elaborated. "His Wing Co found out about him visiting Greville in the hospital. He went against a direct order, you know."

He had been unaware of all of this. _What else hasn't he been telling me?_ "How long for?"

Sam shrugged. "He didn't say. It was the last thing we talked about on Sunday."

"He's always difficult when he's not allowed to do something. He'll probably call when he's got over it." Sam looked slightly reassured. "Best get on with your buns." He nodded his head towards her bench and Sam obediently trotted off. Christopher made a mental note to ring Andrew when they had a break.

* * *

He was pleased with his dough. It had risen nicely and now he just had to add the lemon and poppy seeds. He rolled and shaped the buns, before popping them in the oven, camera crew ever present. Now that there were only five bakers left, there was a ratio of one-to-one cameras to bakers. This meant that they were filmed almost for the entirety of the bake.

With that thought in mind, he glanced over to see how Sam was faring. Her hair was its usual frizzy halo, gleaming golden under the lights. Her shoulders were tense and her movements jerky.

He frowned. She seemed to be still shaping her buns. He glanced at his watch and shook his head. She was cutting it fine. He was relieved to see her put her tray into the oven, with a " _good luck little buns, you're going to need it!_ " which he thought might be a little over-dramatic, but then, that was Sam.

She placed her hands on the counter for a moment, bowing her head. Christopher resolved again to call Andrew at the earliest opportunity.

* * *

He left the tent, allowing the crew to tidy up ready for judging. Christopher pulled his mobile from his pocket and headed to the trees, a common place for more private phone calls. Unfortunately, it was already occupied.

Christopher would have been hard pushed to describe exactly the expression on Sam's face, a mixture between furious and devastated, with just a dash of humiliation and defiant pride.

"Oh! Mr Foyle, sir!" Her voice was a full octave higher than usual and her cheeks were flushed.

"Sam. Are you alright?" He hoped he wouldn't regret asking that question.

"No, not really." She fiddled with the phone in her hands, before looking him squarely in the face. "Andrew dumped me."

"Oh." Christopher hadn't seen this coming.

"By text message." Sam went back to staring at her phone.

"Ah." _Andrew, you bloody fool._

Sam suddenly looked a little ashamed, but still defiant. "So, I phoned him, and I may have called him a coward."

"I see." The boy deserved it. It was a cowardly thing to do.

Sam looked at him worriedly. "I know I shouldn't have, but I'm afraid I was angry and I just…"

"…wanted to hurt him like he had hurt you?" Sam nodded. "Perfectly understandable." Her relief was painful. How could Andrew have been so cruel to this kind and lovely girl?

"I'm sorry Mr Foyle." Some of the fight had seeped out of Sam and she seemed smaller because of it.

"Whatever for?" She shrugged. "His fault, not yours."

"I should have kept my temper." She was just ashamed now, and Christopher felt doubly cross at Andrew.

"Nonsense." He decided to forgo his own call to Andrew, certain that he would call his son worse things than a 'coward'. "We should head back." He gently took Sam's arm, and steered her back towards the tent.

"I don't know how I'm going to do the competition now." Sam's voice was small, and lacking its usual exuberance.

"Pride." He was blunt, rather than comforting. "You won't let this get the better of you."

It was the right choice. Sam took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "You're right. I'm not going to lose because of Andrew bloody Foyle." She suddenly recollected who she was talking to, and began to apologise, but he wasn't having any of that.

"Too right."

* * *

He had only half a mind on the judging, instead thinking about Andrew. He just couldn't figure his son out. Andrew had gone after Sam with such single-mindedness, to then chuck her a few weeks later? Outwardly he was calm, but he could feel the anger on Sam's behalf bubbling beneath the surface.

By the time the judges reached him, he really couldn't care less what they thought of his buns. All he could think about was getting out of there and phoning Andrew to ask him what the bloody hell he thought he was doing.

"These are totally original, Christopher." Mary said, having taken a delicate bite. "Really unusual and delicious."

Paul Hollywood nodded in agreement. "Good bake," he managed around a mouthful of poppy seeds. Christopher raised an eyebrow at this display of bad manners but refrained from comment.

With only five bakers, the judging proceeded much more quickly than in previous weeks. Sam did alright, although her buns were judged to be a little bland.

As soon as he was able, Christopher left the tent and hurried away from the rest, who were heading to the refreshment area.

Once in the trees, he rang Andrew. After five rings, it became clear that his son wasn't going to pick up. Christopher hung up and then rang again, and again, then again. Finally, he let the phone ring until Andrew's answer machine kicked in. "Andrew." He kept his voice level. "What the bloody hell are you playing at? Have the decency to answer your phone."

With that, he pocketed his phone and took a few steadying breaths. Nothing could upset him like Andrew could, and this boorish behaviour had left him very upset. Once he felt more in control, he headed to back to the rest.

Andrew hadn't called him before they were due to start the technical. Cross, Christopher turned off his mobile and swore he would forget about him.

If only Sam was able to do the same. He had watched how, over lunch, she had lost her animation. She had gone quiet and withdrawn. Now, as they all attempted to create jam doughnuts, Sam was less than her usual bubbly self. She was distracted, accidentally over-proving her doughnuts causing them to grow enormously in size, and managed to burn herself quite badly when trying to deep-fry her over-sized doughnuts.

It was no surprise then, that she came last in the technical. She put a brave face on it, but it was clear that she wanted to cry.

Unfortunately, the celebratory loaf that was to be their showstopper required an enriched dough, so they had to get started straight away.

Pretending to need some extra ingredients, Christopher made his way to Sam's bench. "You alright?" A ridiculous question, when she so clearly wasn't.

Fortunately, there were fewer cameras working this particular segment, so there wasn't one nearby. She shook her head. "I feel such a fool."

He frowned. "No need for that."

"I trusted him." It was a simple statement, but he could feel the weight behind it. Sam had taken several weeks to trust Andrew, and for him then to throw it away just a couple of weeks later… He didn't know what to say to her, but gently clasped her shoulder. Sam gave him a mockery of a smile, lopsided and without cheer.

"Don't give up." On the competition he meant, but on Andrew too?

"It's all just going wrong." Her voice was small, and she looked lost.

He screwed his mouth up. "Doesn't have to."

Sam raised an eyebrow, and gave him a hopeless sideways look. He patted her shoulder and gave it up. She clearly needed to wallow in her misery for a while, it was just the timing that was unfortunate.

* * *

At dinner, he was glad to see that Edie was talking to Sam earnestly, arm wrapped round her shoulders. She was clearly much better at dealing with this situation than he was, and there wasn't the added awkwardness of her being connected to the villain of the piece.

After dinner, he went to the bar, as was his usual habit. Once he'd got his drink and settled into a comfortable chair, he pulled out his phone and switched it back on. He contemplated calling his son, but decided to leave it.

He had almost finished his drink, when his phone started buzzing, the picture of Andrew in his uniform flashing up onto the screen. He looked at it while it rang, trying to decide if he was in the right frame of mind to answer it.

Just before it went to answerphone, he answered the call. "Andrew."

"… _Dad_." Andrew's voice was subdued.

Christopher closed his eyes, and wondered where to start. "How are you?"

Andrew laughed, a slightly hysterical sounding laugh. _"Is that really what you want to ask?"_ Christopher didn't answer, knowing that his silence usually got him what he wanted. Sure enough, _"I'm fine Dad."_

"Well," Christopher considered his words carefully. "If that's the case, I can't think of a good excuse for your behaviour."

Andrew was silent, but Christopher could hear his breathing, loud and ragged. He tried again. "Andrew?"

He was answered by a sob. Then, _"I've messed up Dad. Sam's right, I am a coward."_ Christopher felt a physical ache, a desire to comfort his son, to hold him close and promise that everything would be ok. _"I don't know what to do anymore."_

"Why did you do that to Sam? You weren't very kind to her." He was answered by another laugh, one that quickly became a sob.

" _I don't deserve her. She's much too good for me."_ So that was it.

"So, you thought you'd punish yourself by throwing away the only good thing in your life?" Andrew was properly crying now, Christopher could hear it. "I thought you were going to get your head sorted out?"

" _I tried. I went to the shrink, but…"_ sobs punctuated his words. _"He said… he said…"_

"What did he say, Andrew?" Christopher pulled out a notebook and made a note to call Andrew's superior. This had been going on long enough.

" _He said I wouldn't be able to fly anymore, that I'd have to leave the RAF."_ Christopher paused in his writing.

"Is that an issue?" He asked the question carefully, uncertain of the answer.

Now, Andrew sounded truly hysterical. _"I don't have anything else! I'm nothing without the RAF!"_

"Andrew. Calm down." Christopher kept his voice steady. "You know that's not true." Andrew made a noise, possibly of disagreement, but Christopher ignored him. "The RAF is not everything. You are more than just a pilot." He felt ashamed that he hadn't done more to help his son earlier. "Andrew." He rubbed at his forehead, distractedly. "You are so much more than this."

He didn't feel that his words were getting through, as Andrew continued to cry on the other end of the line. For a while he just listened, and offered soothing comments between sobs. Slowly, Andrew calmed down.

"You need to get out of there, Andrew." He broached the subject carefully. "It's not healthy for you. I know, you've got a few years left, but it's no good if those years kill you." Andrew made a sound of protest. "You, your spirit, your mind. Are they worth risking? For what?" Andrew was silent. "I… I can't…" He cleared his throat. "I won't lose you like that."

" _Dad…"_ Andrew's voice was cracked and raw.

"Get to bed." He gave it as an order, knowing that Andrew wouldn't be capable of making any sensible decisions tonight. He ended the call, and sat silently. How had he missed all this? He knew that Andrew had been having difficulty coping, but he had thought that talking to someone would be able to fix things, or at least make them more bearable.

He picked up his phone once again, dialled, and waited. "Hello, is that Wing Commander Turner?"

* * *

The next morning, he was pleased to Sam looking more like her old self. It seemed that spending the evening with Edie had done her the world of good. "I'm not going to give up, Mr Foyle, like you said." He wanted to ask her not to give up on Andrew just yet either, but it wasn't fair to ask such a thing of her. _Andrew needs to sort this out, not me._

Christopher was pleased with his sponge starter, it had turned out well. He was concerned to see Sam binning hers, but she started afresh with determination, which made him think she'd be ok.

The bake went much as it usually did, a constant motion of weighing, mixing, kneading, proving, cutting, shaping and baking. He lost all concept of time in the tent, just moved through his instructions methodically, from one item to the next.

It was only when he had put his Black Forest Christmas Stollen in the oven did he become aware of anything else. Milner, on the bench in front of him, seemed to be chugging along as normal, all cool and calm. Edie was flitting about, looking as relaxed as he imagined she would in her own kitchen. He had yet to get a read on Adam Wainwright. The guy seemed nice enough, but dull and his bakes were similar. Sam, of course, looked frazzled, but then she always did so it was hard to tell if she was ok or not.

They were getting close to the end. Christopher was pleased with how his looked, just adding the finishing touches. He noticed a sudden flurry of activity at Sam's bench, and heard Sue loudly begin to swear. All the contestants had found out very quickly that Mel and Sue had their backs. If something happened that made them emotional, either of the presenters made the segment un-air-able, by swearing. What this meant right now, was that Sam was upset. Christopher abandoned his stollen and headed across.

"It's ruined," he could hear Sam saying in a tearful voice.

"Stick some icing on it and no-one will even know." Mel had her arms around Sam, hugging her close, while Sue tried to reconstruct Sam's stollen, which seemed to have partially collapsed.

"She's right." He made all three of them jump. "Cover it up with icing and fruit. Make it part of the design."

Sam looked at him, with red-rimmed eyes. She needed to go home and rest, he thought, but she needed to stay in the competition. Sam nodded and detangled herself from Mel. Both presenters rushed to help, and Christopher headed back to his own bench.

He stood, staring at his own stollen. Sam couldn't go out of the competition, not like this. It was damage what he had been surprised to learn was a very fragile sense of self-worth. She needed to get through this weekend, and then come back, bigger and better for the next. But the only way she could do that would be if someone else messed up more badly than she had.

Christopher sighed. Carefully, he slid the cake paddle under his stollen, lifting it and moving it to the bard he'd placed at the end of his bench. As he attempted to transfer the cake to the board, he somehow knocked the board, and he watched, as the board tipped off the end of the bench in slow-motion. He stood, frozen to the spot, staring at his now squashed stollen, flattened under the board.

"Christopher!" Somehow, Sue had seen and had rushed over. She crouched down next to the disaster and pulled the board off. He winced at the sight of smashed cake and icing. _That'll be a devil to get out of the carpet._ It was an idle thought, and it made the corner of his mouth twitch. To hide it, he also crouched down and inspected the cake. "We can probably still save it." He had to give Sue points for her optimism.

He shook his head. "No. It's ruined." He gathered up what he could, and marched to the bin. "Wouldn't serve it to a dog." He dumped the cake into the bin with an odd sense of satisfaction. Then he wiped his hands on a towel, inwardly wincing at the mess he was leaving. Sue was staring at him aghast, as were the other contestants. Again, his mouth twitched.

"I'm done with this." With that grand pronouncement, offered in the blandest voice he could manage, Christopher removed his apron and march out of the tent. He was followed by the producer and director, both of whom tried to make him return. He refused.

"Look, there's really no point. We both know I'm out. I have nothing for them to judge." He refused to stand there whilst Paul Hollywood made some sort of snide and patronising comment about his failed bake. He shrugged. "Don't see why you're complaining. Added drama for you, right?"

"You need to be there for the announcement." The producer seemed a little desperate. "We already had to bend the rules the other week, when Andrew hurt his hands, we can't do again!"

"We don't have to." The director folded his arms across his chest. "A baker needs to be eliminated and one will be." It was his turn to shrug. "Just through default."

Christopher felt relief course through him. He had been certain that they wouldn't eliminate two bakers this close to the end, but it was good to have confirmation of that. The director and producer were arguing out the finer details when the other bakers came out of the tent. _They must be tidying up._

Sam made a bee-line for him. "Mr Foyle! Your lovely stollen!" She was genuinely anguished about the loss of his cake and he knew that he'd made the right choice.

"It's alright Sam. It was time for me to go. I've had enough of all this." He'd only even been in the competition in the first place because Andrew had entered him for a laugh. It had been good, to spend time with him and to test himself, but he had other things to do now and the competition seemed a lot less important.

"You mean…" Sam looked horrified. "You're out, sir?"

"Yes. I don't have anything for them to judge, so that counts me out." He patted her arm. "It's alright Sam. Nothing to get upset about."

"But, you could have won it sir." She almost had tears in her eyes.

"Now you'll have to win it instead." As he spoke, he caught Milner's eye and saw an understanding gleam. Christopher nodded at the other man, just once and Milner smiled.

"Be sorry to see you go Christopher." Milner held out his hand and Christopher gripped it firmly. "You're a good man."

"You're a good baker," Edie interjected, and gave him a quick, and unexpected hug. It was over before he had time to react.

Sam also hugged him, again swiftly, but that was more because they were being called back to the tent. Christopher waved them off, wishing them good luck, and then headed away from the tent.

The director had agreed to call him a taxi and it would be here soon. He wanted to be off as soon as possible. He had a very important meeting with Wing Commander Turner.

* * *

A/N

Oh dear! Both Foyle's gone now. Sorry about that, but Christopher was insistent that his time was up. Did he do it deliberately? That's for you to decide!


	9. Week Nine - Chocolate Week

A/N

Sorry this is late - I just hit a bit of writer's block, so was completely unable to get anything down. And then when I did manage to write something, would let me upload! Anyway, enjoy.

* * *

"…it's very quiet in here, now." Sam looked around the tent, which seemed almost empty despite the presence of the crew. The other three bakers were cracking on with the first challenge of a chocolate tart, their intense concentration only adding too the tension. "I miss the others." Missed certain competitors more than others, but she wasn't going to admit to that. "Feels more serious now, like an actual competition." Part of her wanted to go back, back to the beginning, with everybody there and weeks in which to get to know them. "I sometimes wish that it wasn't nearly over."

There was a sudden smell of burning, and Sam snatched her caramel off the stove. "Then this happens, and I come to my senses!" She worked rapidly to create another caramel, unflustered by the mistake, as it frequently happened to her – she just got distracted by some other part of the process, which is why she had started with the caramel on the off chance that it would go wrong. Again.

Sam really didn't like the atmosphere in the tent. The week before she had been somewhat preoccupied and hadn't really noticed the silence in the tent, and before that it had been a lot more lively, thanks to… but now, it was just quiet and studious and Sam hated it. She always reacted badly to tension, fighting the impulse to make a loud noise or do something crazy, which didn't mix well with baking.

She forced herself to calm down. She took a look around the room at the remaining contestants. Edie was flitting back and forth, chattering away to herself as she worked, as she always did. Milner was a cool and collected as he always was, methodically working his way through his instructions. Adam… well, Adam was just there, doing whatever it was that Adam did. Sam hardly knew the man. He had made his way into the semi-final simply by not drawing any attention to himself. Maybe she should try to get to know him better? Even as she thought this, Adam glanced up and smiled at her. She smiled back. _He seems nice enough._

* * *

Her chocolate tart went quite smoothly, well for her. She felt only slightly flustered by the end. Somewhere in between making the cinnamon peanut butter and chocolate peanut mousse, she thought perhaps she had bitten off more than she could chew. She could have done with some of Milner's calming words, but he was at the front of the tent and she was at the back, on the other side.

So, she had to make do with Sue, who hovered nearby, stealing peanuts and licking the spoon from the mousse. On her third attempt, she actually managed to make a halfway decent salted caramel and shared a stinging high-five with the dark-haired presenter, who then burnt her mouth attempting to steal some of the left over caramel.

The final result looked good enough, she could only hope that the taste was good too. She left the tent, while the crew tidied up and pulled out her phone on her way to get a cup of tea. She smiled when she saw a message from Mr Foyle. He had taken her number before he left the previous weekend, with a vague comment about staying updated – on what, she wasn't exactly sure. His message was short and simply said "STOP STRESSING." The all caps amused her. She was certain he knew how to change it but didn't, because it annoyed Andrew. Her mouth turned down as she thought of Andrew. _Don't think about him._

* * *

The turnaround on cleaning the tent was quicker than ever before, and Sam didn't actually get to have any tea before they were being called back in for the judging. She sat at the end of her bench and stared at her tart, as the camera lingered on her face. The producer sighed. "Sam, can you look more 'I'm proud of this' and less, 'let's get this over with'? It's a cake, not a trip to the dentist!"

Sam shrugged helplessly. The producer shook her head. "Pretend it's Andrew if you have to." Sam immediately frowned – not what she wanted to be thinking about now. "Or not," the producer continued at the sight of Sam's glare. "Just try to look…" she made a helpless gesture, "…happy."

Sam sighed. She looked past the producer, at the rest of the room, and caught sight of Edie pulling faces at her. Sam smiled and quickly looked back at her cake. She managed to hold onto her amusement long enough to satisfy the producer. When the camera left her, she looked back at Edie, who gave her a thumbs-up and a wink. Sam returned the thumbs-up, grateful for Edie's help.

* * *

The judging went very smoothly – both Mary and Paul were very impressed with her tart, leaving her glowing with pleasure. In fact, all the bakers did very well, which left her conflicted. She was pleased for her friends, but she was aware more than ever, that this was a competition and she needed to be better than the rest. Still, it was only round one, so there was a chance for someone to slip up before the end. _Probably me_ , she thought, amused at herself.

"Thank you, Edie, for before." Sam surveyed the buffet, trying to decide what she wanted to eat today.

Edie laughed. "Don't mention it!" She gave Sam a sideways glance. "You seemed to have lost your sense of humour, particularly when she mentioned..."

"I do _not_ want to talk about that." The potato salad landed on her plate with more force than she had intended, with bits flying off in all directions.

Edie got the hint and immediately switch conversational track. "Your tart was delicious. I managed to sneak a bit before the crew ate it all."

"Thank you." Sam smiled. She decided against the coronation chicken and selected a couple of cold chicken legs instead. "So was yours – I actually had to fight the boom operator to even get a taste!"

Edie laughed, and turned away from the food, to find a table. Sam was surprised when Edie didn't head towards the table with the other contestants but found a vacant one instead – not that she minded it being just the girls for once.

"I thought we could do with a bit of girly time for once, after all that stress." Sam nodded in agreement and applied herself eagerly to her food. For a few minutes, they ate in companionable silence. When they had satisfied the edge of their hunger, Edie sat back from her plate and eyed Sam thoughtfully. Sam inwardly sighed, fearing that Edie was going to asked her some difficult questions.

So she was pleasantly surprised when instead Edie asked, "what are you going to do when this is all over?"

Sam stared at her, trying to catch up to the question that was asked, rather than the one that she had been expecting. "Um, not eat cake for a while?" Her answer came out more like a question in her uncertainty.

Edie giggled. "Definitely! I don't want to even see a cake for at least two weeks."

"More like two months!" Sam exclaimed.

"My stomach will certainly be pleased." Edie patted her middle. "I don't think the cake diet has been doing me any favours."

Sam shook her head in sad agreement, "me neither."

"It will be so nice," Edie leaned forward, and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper, "to _not_ have to spend every waking minute practicing my bakes."

Sam also leaned in. "Think of all the time we will have."

"We could go for a walk."

"Or shopping."

"Or watch tv."

"Or go out for tea." They both started laughing. "But _no_ cake!" Sam followed up.

Edie slowly sobered, but her smile remained. "After this, we definitely need to stay in touch. We can go for coffee or tea – _no_ cake."

"That would be lovely." Sam's smile made her cheeks ache. She didn't have many female friends – engineering still tended to be a male dominated profession, so it was nice to think that she would be coming away from this competition with a new friend, even if she didn't get anything else.

"I'm so glad I met you, Sam." Edie reached across the table and took Sam's hand. "I didn't think I would make such good friends doing this but," she glanced over her shoulder at the table with the other contestants, "I been so lucky!"

 _Yes,_ Sam thought as she nodded her agreement to Edie's statement, _no matter how difficult thinks have been, I've definitely been lucky._

* * *

Sam waited anxiously for her chance to start the technical. The evil judges – or the producers (whoever actually came up with the technical challenges), had decided on a staggered start and Sam, of course, was last. Edie had been first and had begged the others not to leave her. Sam would rather have been first than last.

First Adam had left and then Milner. Now Sam was sat by herself, chewing her finger nails nervously. To distract herself, she pulled out her phone. There was another message from Mr Foyle. "IT'S NEVER AS BAD AS YOU THINK." She smiled to herself. How did he know just what to say? She was grateful that Mr Foyle still wanted to be friends with her, despite how things with Andrew had turned out.

She frowned to herself, her fingers hovering over her phone. Giving into temptation, she brought up her answerphone messages. She bit her lip as she held her phone up to her ear.

" _Hi Sam, it's me…"_ Andrew sounded tired and… empty. _"I know I have no right to be calling you…"_

Sam jumped violently, snatching her phone away from her ear and hiding it guiltily behind her back when someone called her name. Heart racing, she realised it was one of the crew, calling her through for her turn at the technical. She hurriedly shoved her phone into her pocket and rushed to the tent.

* * *

Perhaps she hadn't been in the best frame of mind going into the technical, but chocolate soufflé was never going to be something she excelled at. Sam ducked out of the hotel, before anyone else could spot her – she was not in the mood to talk to anyone. She walked rapidly along the paths into the gardens.

Fourth in the technical, in the semi-final. It was disaster! Sam gulped, afraid that the tears were going to come before she was adequately hidden away. Edie had come first, with an excellent soufflé. Sam had been flustered from the start, feeling behind and unprepared. The second feeling was usual for a technical, but because the others were ahead from the start, she had felt like she was constantly trying to catch up, which was perhaps why she had pulled her soufflé out too early, so they collapsed.

Sam ducked quickly into the walled garden and sank down onto the bench. She struggled not to cry. _What am I crying for? It's just cake!_ But it wasn't just cake. She had been doing so well and then last week, it had gone so badly. She had seen this week as a chance to get back on track, but now…

She indulged herself in a few minutes of tears, before giving herself a stern talking to. She wiped her eyes decisively and took a deep breath. Sam closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing. _In, out. In, out._ Slowly, the quiet of the garden seeped into her and she felt calmer. _It's just cake._

When she opened her eyes, Sam realised that she had hidden in the same spot as she had weeks ago, when her spanische windtorte had gone so wrong. Only, Andrew wasn't here to comfort her this time. _I don't need him_ she thought fiercely. And she didn't. But she had wanted him.

Sam sighed and drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. She didn't trust people easily, and she had let Andrew in against her better judgement. _And I was right!_ He had hurt her very badly with his callous method of dumping her. She had flicked between rage, humiliation and sadness the previous weekend, which had impacted badly on her bakes. She had sworn, as she drove home, that she wasn't going to think about him anymore – he wasn't worth it.

Then… he had rung her. She wasn't allowed to use her phone whilst at work, and in fact, tended to forget about it. She had pulled it out at the end of the day, intending to look up ingredients for her tart and had instead seen a message saying she had a message. Completely unsuspecting she had started listening to the message as she got into her car. When she heard Andrew's voice, she had sunk into her seat and stared out of her windscreen in disbelief. She had had to listen to the message twice, before she had been able to take it in. Then she had driven to the supermarket in high emotion, swearing, again, to _not_ think of that man.

She pulled out her phone now, running her thumb over the screen. She took a deep breath and activated the message again.

" _Hi Sam, it's me… I know I have no right to be calling you…"_ She could almost hear him swallow. _"I am… so, so sorry for what I did. You're right, I am a coward. I…"_ He had paused here so long that the first time she thought he'd hung up. _"I must have hurt you so much, and the worst part is, I didn't even mean it. I… care about you, a lot."_ He gave a small, sad chuckle. _"Not that that matters now. I blown it."_ He sighed heavily. _"That's not why I'm ringing – I'm not asking you to forgive me, I don't deserve it."_ For a moment, his voice was fierce and passionate. _"I just wanted to apologise. I'm sorry Sam, I was an absolute ass, a coward – anything you can think of, that's me and I'm sorry. I hope that…"_ He sounded tired again and Sam ached to hold him, even as she fiercely denied that feeling. _"I hope that I haven't ruined anything for you."_ Another sad chuckle _. "How arrogant of me to think that you would let me affect you in anyway. I know you won't. I know that you are going to use this to make you stronger. I know that you are going to ace the competition. And I know that you are going to have a great life."_ Sam swallowed the lump in her throat. _"Thank you, for everything you did for me,"_ Andrew's voice wobbled slightly, _"even though I didn't deserve it. Thank you for being part of my life and for making it brighter and better for a few weeks at least."_ It sounded so horribly final. _"I wish you all the best – honestly Sam, you deserve it."_ Again, he had hesitated. _"Maybe, one day, I can… make it up to you."_ Another pause. _"Thanks Sam… and, goodbye."_

Once she had got over her initial anger, that he would ring her so casually after what he'd done – that he would ring her when he knew that she wouldn't answer – she had made herself listen to the message again, carefully. She had caught more of the nuances to his voice and his phrasing. And, she had noted the time. He had rung her at one o'clock, which was her lunch break. Normally, she would have answered, but she had worked through her lunch that day. So, he had actually tried to talk to her, which made her feel a little softer towards him. Soft enough that she's tried to ring him back, but he hadn't answered. In fact, his phone had gone straight to voicemail every time she tried, both then and since.

She could have asked Mr Foyle, but she didn't like to involve him – it wasn't fair. Still, if she still hadn't heard from Andrew in the next week, she may have to go through his father. She tucked her phone back into her pocket and stood up, giving her eyes a final scrub. Andrew was right, she was going to _ace_ this competition. She laughed at herself then, already feeling better.

* * *

"Are you looking forward to this challenge, Sam?" Sam looked in surprise at Adam Wainwright. He had barely spoken to her over the last 9 weekends.

"Umm, well not really, after yesterday's disaster with the soufflé." Adam smiled at her, _very charming!_

"I wouldn't worry about that, you got a Hollywood handshake for your tart." Sam smiled at him.

"I did, didn't I?" She needed to focus on the good things, that was the only way to get through today. If she kept thinking about what had gone wrong, things would only keep going wrong. Adam gave her another charming smile and moved over to his own bench.

"I'm going all out for this," Sam told the camera that came to observe what she was doing. "After that soufflé yesterday, I need to do something special." A chocolate centrepiece, using some form of white chocolate, that had to be free-standing and attractive – no problem. Sam snorted to herself, forgetting about the camera as she got to work. _No problem!_

She worked hard to make the necessary elements of her chocolate peacock. Tail feathers, eggs, nest, decoration for the tail feathers, the peacock itself… _might have over done it this time!_ She forced herself to work methodically through her instructions rather than dwelling on how much she had to get done. Andrew had taught her to do that. She swallowed down the emotions that rose with the thought of Andrew and constructed her tail feathers with shaking fingers. _I'm going to ace this_ , she thought fiercely.

"I still have to construct the nest, and the log," she looked wildly around her work station as she spoke to the camera, "actually, I have loads to do, so I just can't talk to you right now." She suited the action to the words and worked without talking.

She was in the middle of constructing the tail, when she heard a sharp gasp from the bench in front of her and whipped her head up.

Edie was desperately trying to hold her chocolate carousel which was collapsing. Sam dropped what she was doing and dashed around the bench to help. Before she could reach Edie, someone caught at her arm. She turned to find Mel hanging off her arm. "Sam! You have to get back to your bake!"

"But Edie!" Sam waved wildly in Edie's direction. Mel forcibly turned Sam back around – _who knew she was this strong?_

"Sue and I will help." Even as she spoke, Sue was rushing in. "You need to do yours, so that we can help Edie and don't have to help you!"

Reluctantly, Sam went back to her peacock. Her position behind Edie meant that she could see every desperate attempt they made to keep the carousel upright. She tried to focus on her own construction, which was fiddly and time-consuming, but her heart ached for her friend.

* * *

At the end of the challenge, Edie had managed to salvage something, but not the pretty carousel she had shown Sam in the pictures she'd taken of her practice ones at home. Sam was disappointed on Edie's behalf. She slipped her arm around the other woman as they left the tent to allow for tidying. "Oh Edie, I'm so sorry!"

Edie shook her head, "it's my own fault, the puffed rice roof was always a bit dodgy and this time it just didn't hold together." She wrapped her arm around Sam's waist and squeezed. "Thank you for coming to help me."

"I didn't actually do anything." Sam blushed slightly.

"It's doesn't matter, you would have." Edie gave her another squeeze and then disentangled herself. "That's me gone."

Sam shook her head. "Not necessarily. Remember, I messed up big time yesterday."

Edie smiled, although it was a sad smile. "That peacock of yours is amazing, I don't think you're in trouble at all." She took a deep breath, and then gave a more genuine smile. "Still, I had a good run."

Before Sam could say anything, Milner appeared, and Sam left him to console Edie. Without anything to do, she wandered over to Adam. "So how did you find that challenge?"

Adam raised his eyebrows and grimaced. "Could have gone better. My bell tower looks like a child made it."

Sam was inclined to agree, but would never have said so. "I think its very charming." Adam looked at her side-long and she struggled to hold his gaze.

"You're too kind, Sam." She shrugged. "Hopefully, it tastes good and that will make up for it." He suddenly laughed. "That's hardly the point of a 'Showstopper' is it? Looks bad but tastes good."

"It's doesn't look _bad_ ," Sam insisted. Adam shook his head and refused to accept her protests. Before she could really warm up to the subject, they were called back into the tent.

* * *

"The overall effect is really very beautiful," Mary said. "It shows a lot of skill." Sam let out the breath she'd been holding.

"It's a great work of art." Sam knew she was gawking at Paul, but she couldn't help herself. Her astonishment only grew, as both Paul and Mary praised the taste of her various chocolate elements. She was in a daze as she took her peacock back to her bench. She passed Edie, who gave her a double thumbs-up. Paul and Mary had been very gentle with Edie during the judging, which had restored a little bit of her confidence, but she was still insistent that she was going to go.

Sam couldn't believe how things had turned out. Edie, despite winning the technical, was out. And despite failing the technical, Sam had won Star Baker. She felt bewildered. She was in the final! How had that happened? She rang her parents to tell them and deflated at their lukewarm congratulations. She wished desperately that she had someone who would be ecstatic for her. Previously Andrew would have…

Before she could think better of it, she dialled Andrew's number. It rang a number of times, which was better than previously, but it didn't seem like he was going to answer. Just before she gave up, the ringing stopped and a voice said, _"Sam."_

"Oh! Mr Foyle, sir!" Sam was astonished. She hadn't been expecting him. She floundered for something to sat. what would he think of her, calling Andrew after everything. "Umm… er…"

" _How has the competition gone?"_ Mr Foyle was as calm and collected as ever, which helped Sam to gather her thoughts.

"I'm in the final!" She couldn't keep the glee from her voice.

" _Of course you are."_ Mr Foyle didn't sound surprised at all, which was very flattering. _"Congratulations Sam, you deserve it."_

There was the sound of a voice in the background, indistinct. _"Sam's in the final."_ Mr Foyle's voice sounded as though he'd turned away from the phone for moment. _"No, I'm not surprised either."_ Before she could ask who he was talking to, Mr Foyle said, _"Andrew says congratulations too."_

Sam was speechless. If Andrew was there, why wasn't he answering his own phone. _"Andrew, I'll be back in a minute."_ There was the indistinct voice again, and then the sound of a door opening and closing.

"What's going on?" Sam was unable to contain her curiosity any longer. "Why didn't Andrew answer the phone himself?"

" _He's… taking a break."_ What did that mean? Mr Foyle carried on before she could ask any questions. " _Andrew's career in the RAF is over."_

Sam tried to digest this. "He's out of the RAF." Mr Foyle made a noise of agreement. "But… the RAF was his life…?"

" _That's not healthy. Not for someone like Andrew."_ Sam was very much inclined to agree with that. Andrew was too sensitive for the RAF, he dwelled too much on what he'd seen and done. _"Anyway, he's out now, for good."_

"And he's not allowed a phone?" She had to ask, she wanted to be sure that he hadn't answered because he _couldn't,_ not because he hadn't wanted to.

" _No. Thought it best if he took a break from everything."_ Sam remembered the hollow, emptiness of Andrew's voice through most of his message and agreed. _"He only switched it back on today. When he saw you calling…"_ Sam could imagine Andrew asking his father to answer on his behalf, and Mr Foyle reluctantly doing so – reluctant, not because he didn't want to talk her, but because he didn't want to interfere.

"Tell him…" What did she want to say? "Tell him, I got his message. Tell him… tell him I…" She hadn't forgiven him, not yet, but she felt that she could forgive him, one day. "Tell him I understand, and I hope he's better soon." It wasn't exactly what she wanted to say, but it would have to do.

" _I will. You can tell him anything else yourself."_ Mr Foyle sounded a little amused. _"When he's up to it, I'm sure he'll call."_ Sam felt nervous, did she want him to call? She hoped he would call. _"Congratulations again, Sam, you deserve it."_

"Thank you, Mr Foyle." She felt a glow of pleasure, at his confidence in her. She hung up the phone, taking a deep breath. _I'm going to ace this thing._

* * *

A/N

Just one chapter left to go. Who will win the Great British Bake Off?


	10. Week Ten - The Final

A/N

So it's a bit later than I intended, but it's a monster of a chapter if that makes up for it. Nearly 12,000 words. I could probably have got it written a bit quicker if I hadn't decided to write from both Sam and Milner's POV. I haven't really edited this, so sorry if there are any mistakes. Hope you enjoy.

Welcome to the Final of the Great British Bake Off!

* * *

"I feel sick." Sam's whisper carried in the silent tent, causing some of the crew to smile.

"You'll be alright." Although, Paul could see that Sam _was_ very pale. He hoped that she would be alright. Paul felt quite nervous himself, waiting for filming to start on the last ever weekend of Bake Off. He looked around the tent, taking in all the detail that had become so familiar over the last nine weekends. _I'm going to miss this._ Adam, he noticed, didn't seem to be suffering from nerves – although Paul couldn't really be sure, as Adam never seemed to be experiencing any emotions at all.

"Good morning bakers!" Sue's chirpy voice made him jump. The presenters and judges had arrived in the tent without him noticing and were now in their customary line up. He took a deep breath. _Here we go._

* * *

Sam was deathly afraid she was actually going to throw up. Nausea roiled in her stomach and threatened to rise up her throat. She swallowed convulsively. Her hands were shaking, and she could hardly stand still. She just wanted it to be over with. _I am never baking again_ she promised herself.

The crew pottered around, setting up. Sam wished desperately that they would hurry up. "I feel sick," she whispered, tying and re-tying her apron strings.

"You'll be alright." Milner's voice was calm and reassuring behind her, and she turned to find him smiling at her. She attempted a smile, but it felt wrong on her face. Why couldn't she be more like Milner? Calm and collected, instead of a mess.

Turning back, Sam caught Adam's eye across the tent, and he too gave her a smile. She nodded back and quickly faced the front. She was very grateful that it was Milner behind her today, she wasn't quite sure what to say to Adam after last week. The memory made her cover her cheeks with her hands to hide her embarrassment.

"Good morning bakers!" Sue's voice interrupted Sam's confusion, and she quickly clasped her hands behind her back. _Here we go._

* * *

"I'm making cinnamon and apple iced buns," Paul told the judges as he kneaded his dough, "and toffee and marmalade."

"Are you incorporating any of those flavours into the dough?" Paul Hollywood asked.

"No. I'm going to make a toffee crème pat and a citrus marmalade. The marmalade will go in the middle and the crème pat on top. Same with the other one, apple compote inside and crème Chantilly on top." He scooped his kneaded dough in a large glass bowl and covered it with cling film. He noticed Paul's sceptical expression but resolved to ignore it. He hadn't made it through the army to be intimidated by Paul Hollywood.

"Okay. Sounds fascinating." Sometimes he wondered what Mary really thought, hidden away behind a polite façade. She smiled at him now as if he had said something actually fascinating rather than describing his baking process. A consummate professional. "But you will have to make sure that your finish is absolutely perfect, to make up for the plainness of the bun."

The judges and presenters left, but the camera remained, moving around behind the counter. Paul grabbed the bowl containing his dough and tucked it into the proving drawer. "I'm just going to let that prove for about an hour, while I make everything else." The sheer amount he had left to do almost overwhelmed him for a moment, and he took a deep breath. "Step one, make the marmalade." _One step at a time._

* * *

Sam was inclined to think that she had bitten off more than she could chew. She had made her dough which was proving. When it had been in for an hour, she needed to take it out, divide it in two and add cardamom to one, and nutmeg to the other. She had made her sour cherry jam and was in the process of making almond custard. She still had royal icing and Chantilly cream to go, as well as all the assembling. She pushed a hank of hair that had fallen into her face, only for it to fall back again. She huffed, frustrated. _That's it! I'm getting a haircut!_

The camera crew had been hovering round like vultures, sensing her stress perhaps, waiting for her to mess up. Well, she refused. Not this time. Sam redoubled her efforts with the custard, stirring constantly, smiling in relief as she felt the mixture thicken. She removed it from the heat, adding salt and almond extract. She poured it into a jug, covered it with cling film and hurried to put it in the fridge to cool. She had to dodge around Paul Hollywood in the process – he was another one who was hovering, no, _lurking_ around the tent. She wasn't going to let him put her off either. _I'm going to ace this._ She smiled at the thought.

* * *

Paul slid his buns into the oven and sat back on his heels. "Now they just have to bake." He glanced at the camera hovering to his left. "Fingers crossed it all goes well." He suited the action to the word, crossing his fingers in front of the lens. Now he just needed to make the crème Chantilly. He rocked back on his heel slightly, gripping the edge of the worktop as he tried to find the leverage to stand up. Crouching was quite difficult with an artificial leg, he had to stretch his left leg out straight, and rely on his right to bear his weight. After a moment, he was able to stand up.

He placed both hands on the counter, and looked round for his ingredients. He moved a bowl of sugar out of the way, replacing it with a bowl of icing sugar instead. He quickly got the ingredients in the mixer and started whipping it up.

Paul kept going over the bake in his head, checking and double checking that he had done everything. There was a niggling doubt at the back of his mind that he had missed something. He looked around the bench, wondering if that would give him any clues. His gaze rested on the bowl of sugar he'd moved out of the way earlier. _Where had that come from?_ He had used sugar in the compote, the marmalade and the crème pat, but he had measured straight from the jar for them. When would he have put sugar into a bowl?

He continued to ponder this as he finished whipping the crème Chantilly. His timer beeped, and he carefully sank down to peer into the oven. His buns could do with a few more minutes, he thought as he reached for the timer. Suddenly his eyes widened. "Oh sh…" His voice trailed off. He couldn't have?

He looked at the bowl of sugar, and then back at his buns. He had a terrible feeling that he had. He let his head fall forward to rest on the edge of the counter. _Well that's it, I'm out._

"Milner, what is it?" He turned his head to face the camera.

"I'm fairly certain I forgot to add the sugar to my buns." Saying it out loud just made it worse. He felt like an absolute idiot. The gasp that came from the cameraman only added to his misery. Paul took a deep breath, and forced himself to carry on. He checked his buns, and deciding that they were done. Carefully, he went about the awkward task of getting the buns out of the oven and onto the worktop whilst being unable to stand up immediately.

Paul eyed the buns. He had exactly 16 so there was no way for him to try and check that he really had forgotten the sugar – although, when he cut them, he might be able to sneak a crumb or two. "Well, can't be helped now," he said to no-one in particular. Sam glanced at him curiously, a smear of flour and something else across one cheek. He shook his head, _don't ask,_ and Sam turned back to whatever it was that she was doing.

* * *

Somewhere in the middle of the chaos, Sam had found serenity. She had shifted from making one thing to the next, without pausing or having to think about it. She was in some kind of baking zen state, just mixing, weighing, heating and cooling. She had no idea what was going on around her, until she heard Milner behind her say, "Well, can't be helped now."

She blinked dazedly, pushed that annoying bit of hair out of her face for the fiftieth time, and turned to find out what was going on. Milner shook his head when she met his gaze, and she got the impression he didn't want to talk about it just then. She turned back to her bake.

Sam stared at her bench, trying to figure out what exactly she was supposed to be doing. She couldn't seem to make sense of what was in front of her.

"Are you alright Sam?" Mel had appeared at her elbow, and was peering anxiously at her.

Sam took a deep breath. "I have no idea what I'm doing right now."

"Well, you're in a tent, making iced buns as part of a competition called the Great British Bake Off." Mel placed a hand on Sam's back and gently rubbed.

"I must be crazy…" Talking was helping. It was forcing her brain to work at something other than auto-pilot. She mentally catalogued the things she had made – jam, custard, icing and cream.

"We all are." Mel patted her consolingly on her back. "I think you were about to begin putting your buns together." Mel gestured towards the buns, sitting on cooling racks at the end of the counter. "You got them out a few minutes ago, and then went and got all your other bits. You were just getting the piping bags."

That's right. The piping bags were in front of her. "Thanks Mel. I feel like I'm completely losing it here."

"Pipe first, lose it after." Mel gave her one last pat and left her to it. Now that she was out of her fugue state, Sam was aware of the sounds of Milner and Paul, of the crew moving around the tent, of Paul and Mary stood to one side, whispering. She took a number of deep breaths, calming herself. Then, she got a tray of buns and got to work.

* * *

Milner stepped away from his Signature bake at Sue's bellow of "Bakers, your time is up! Step away from the bakes!" His buns looked great but that didn't really matter anymore, considering the lack of sugar. He was angry at himself for the mistake. He had finished them in his usual meticulous manner, unable to give up completely. There was the smallest chance that his fillings and toppings would be enough for his buns to considered ok. _Not that 'ok' will cut it in the final._

Sam's buns looked amazing, beautifully decorated. Her workstation looked like a bomb had hit it, and Sam herself was covered in flour, icing sugar and God knows what else, on her apron, on her sleeves, on her face… It actually made him smile.

"I'm a mess!" Sam looked down at herself in complete surprise, holding her arms out wide. "What on earth happened to me?" Milner laughed. Trust Sam to cheer him up, without even trying.

They shuffled out of the tent to allow the clean up to take place. It was much quicker these days, with just three bakers making a mess rather than 12. Sam looked at him enquiringly, clearly having not forgotten his earlier words. He glanced at Adam, who was standing off to one side, talking on his mobile. Everyone would know what had happened soon enough, but he didn't know Adam well enough to want to tell him personally.

Moving slightly further away from Adam, Milner sighed. "I forgot to put the sugar in my buns."

For one moment, Sam didn't react. She just stared at him. He could literally see the moment she understood what he had said. Complete horror crossed her face. "Oh Milner! Oh no!" She looked absolutely distraught. _Someone, someday, is going to have to explain to Sam what a 'competition' actually means._ "I can't believe that happened, how awful." She caught hold of his hands and squeezed them between hers. "Do you need a hug?"

If Edie had been here, she would have hugged him without asking, but Sam, although impulsive, respected the boundaries that others had put in place regarding personal space. Looking at her, with her heart on her sleeve for him, Paul realised he _did_ actually want a hug. He nodded, and Sam wrapped her arms around his chest. She was only tall enough to come to his shoulder, but she hugged firmly, and it was nice.

"You know," Sam said as she stepped back from the hug, "your fillings might be sweet enough that it doesn't matter too much." She smiled at him, ever the optimist. He ought to remind her that his mistake gave her a better chance of winning, but decided not to. It wouldn't change Sam anyway.

"Maybe you're right, it wasn't a lot of sugar really, just 80 grams." He felt a little bit more optimistic. His fillings and toppings were sweet – maybe it wouldn't be too bad that the bun wasn't. Of course, the bun made up the bulk of it and it would probably taste quite bland, or possibly even salty… "Well, there's nothing I can do now."

Sam smiled at him again and patted his arm. Then she glanced past him, and her eyes widened. To Milner's surprise, Sam flushed bright red, mumbled something about needing to go to the loo and dashed off. Milner was left staring after her for another moment, before Adam appeared beside him.

"Is Sam alright?" Adam asked. Milner looked at the other man and then in the direction Sam had fled. Clearly Sam was embarrassed about something that had happened with Adam, but what. Milner had never ever seen the two of them interact. And Sam had done many embarrassing things, yet had never reacted like this. _A mystery…_ He grinned. He loved a good mystery.

* * *

Sam felt that the first part of the weekend had gone well. She had received a 'Hollywood Handshake' for her signature, and had nearly wept in relief. Mary had been very enthusiastic, and un-Mary like, which had been just as gratifying. Milner had been chided for his lack of sugar, but had been praised for his other flavours. Adam had suffered from his crème pat not setting. So far, a typical Bake-Off weekend.

She had slipped into the catering tent late, pretending to make a phone call so that the two men went in before her. Arriving in the tent, she had been dismayed to see that they were sitting together, before realising that with Milner there, there was no way Adam could attempt to talk to her alone, as he had been trying all day. She closed her eyes in mortification thinking back to the previous Sunday.

Grabbing a plate, she stared at the buffet on offer. For once, she really didn't feel that hungry. And it was all Adam's fault. _Why did he have to do that?_

Sunday had been going so well. She had got off the phone with Mr Foyle, concerned and confused about Andrew, but mostly pleased and resolute about her chances in the competition, and was about to head in the direction of the minibus, when Adam had called for her to wait up. She had smiled at him, feeling happy about her win. Adam had smiled back.

"I say Sam, well done!" Adam's congratulations were sincere.

"Thanks!" She jumped slightly at the feel of Adam's hand brushing against her own. She shifted slightly, so that they wouldn't be walking so close.

"We should go out and celebrate." Adam was still smiling at her, and Sam started to feel as though she was missing something.

"That would be nice…" She trailed off, trying to figure out a polite way to say that she was tired and just wanted to go home.

Adam seemed oblivious. "Great! I know an excellent Italian, very quiet." He gave her a sidelong look she couldn't quite interpret. "Romantic."

Sam almost choked. "Romantic?!" she squeaked.

"I really like you Sam," Adam was earnest. "I want to take you out."

"No!" Her refusal was abrupt. No attempt to soften the blow or disassemble. She was too shocked. Adam looked surprised, and then a little hurt. She rushed to say something, anything. "I'm not looking to… to…"

Adam's eyebrows rose, and his face took on an 'ah-ha' expression. "Still hurting over Foyle?" She winced at his reference to Andrew, which only seemed to confirm his thoughts. "I realise its quite soon after your thing with him, but he's gone and I'm here so…" Sam could only stare at him, which was apparently encouragement enough. "Why not give me a chance?"

Sam stuttered, unable to think of anything to say. "Um, well, that is…" She forced herself to take a deep breath and started again. "I'm really not looking for a relationship right now, with _anyone._ " She made sure to put extra emphasis on the last word, but it failed to have her intended effect.

"I realise this may be a surprise to you Sam, but I didn't want to say anything when Foyle was around. He's gone now," another wince on Sam's part, "and I'm not going to give up." He smiled again, charmingly. She'd had enough of charming. "I'll try again next weekend."

She had been left confused and embarrassed, wondering if she had somehow done something to encourage him. She still felt like that now, and she had no idea how to un-encourage him. So, she had tried her best to avoid him, which apparently meant avoiding Milner too.

For a moment, Sam contemplated sitting alone at a different table. Then she felt suddenly angry. Why should she have to miss out on spending time with a friend because Adam wouldn't give up? She took a firm grip on her plate, lifted her chin and started to march towards the table – before realising she had yet to get some food. She turned back to the buffet.

* * *

Paul laughed as Adam finished his tale of woe about the bed and breakfast he ran when not baking increasingly complicated cakes for a competition. "Did the ceiling really fall through?"

Adam nodded, a rueful smile on his face. "Only a week after the gas leak!"

Paul laughed again. He caught sight of Sam making her way over to the table. He was pleased to see that her plate was full – she had been acting oddly, and was late coming to lunch, a very un-Sam-like thing. She met his gaze and smiled, although it was somewhat strained.

She moved around the table to sit next to him, and he noticed that she didn't really look at Adam, just gave a vague smile in his direction. _Definitely something odd going on there._

"Hello Sam." Adam smiled broadly at Sam, clearly obvious to her lack of attention. Paul was amused to see Sam take a huge bite of her sandwich, rendering her unable to answer Adam. This didn't seem to deter Adam, who attempted to hold a conversation with her. Sam, nodded, made a few agreeable noises and generally did everything she could to end the conversation, but Adam was oblivious. Paul frowned. Sam was starting to look quite strained, like she wanted to be anywhere else but here.

 _Bad form, Adam._ It wasn't at all gentlemanly to force a woman, or anyone really, to have a conversation when they clearly didn't want to. "Sam." He interrupted Adam's flow of questions. "Adam was telling me all about his B&B. He's had some pretty spectacular disasters."

Sam's expression of relief should have been comical, but instead it only made him more concerned. Adam took the bait and began retelling the story to Sam. It wasn't a perfect strategy, but at least Adam was no longer harassing Sam. Paul saw Sam's shoulder relax and she went about eating the rest of her lunch in a far more normal manner.

From then on, every time Adam tried to gain Sam's sole attention, Paul would ask a question or tell a story of his own, diverting the conversation away from her. Adam didn't seem to notice. Paul couldn't help feeling that the guy was alright, just rubbish a reading signs. Still, that wasn't an excuse to make Sam uncomfortable, and Paul wasn't going to let it happen on his watch.

He managed to keep Adam talking for the whole of lunch, and ensured that they all walked back to the tent together. Sam wasn't ignorant of his interference, and when they were back at their benches, she turned to him whilst tying her apron and mouthed _thank you_ at him. He smiled at her, but inwardly frowned. She shouldn't need to thank him. Perhaps he should have a quiet word with Adam.

* * *

It was a relief to get back into the tent, even if it meant facing down a technical bake. _Mille Feuille_ were not something she had ever made before, and she wasn't one hundred percent sure she knew what they looked like. "I feel like this challenge was particularly designed for the three of us," she told the camera. "All of us had been pretty rubbish at pastry in the past. I think this was designed to test us."

She was busily rolling out her pastry, having added the first layer of butter. "I'm really hoping that I get it right this time!" As if it wasn't bad enough that this was the final, they had go and throw in rough puff pastry. She added the next lot of butter and carefully folded the top third down and then the bottom fold over. Then she wrapped it in cling film and placed it in the fridge. "Sleep well, little pastry," she murmured. Then she rushed back to her bench to start making the jam.

Like most technicals, the instructions were sparse. After she had made the jam, she rolled out the pastry and cut it into three equal pieces, before sliding them into the oven. "Ideally, I like to rest the pastry in the fridge again, but I just don't have time." She could literally feel the seconds slipping through her fingers and her heart drummed in chest. She took a deep breath, trying to calm down.

The instructions now told her to make a sugar syrup. "What's that for?" She glanced around at Adam and Paul, trying to see if they could give any clues but they were no further ahead. "I can't see why you would need a sugar syrup." Even as she spoke, she started measuring out the sugar. "Still, if the instructions say 'make a sugar syrup', then I will make a sugar syrup." She would just have to figure out where it went later.

Of course, her timer for her pastry went off in the middle of the syrup-making. She risked leaving the sugar and water mix, which had yet to start boiling, alone, and quickly pulled out the pastry sheets, setting them aside to cool. Sam's gamble paid off - dashing back to the stove she found the mixture just starting to boil.

Rolling and cutting the icing was beautifully simple after the rush of making everything else. There was something very satisfying in laying the stripes, getting them neat and evenly spaced. She'd had a sudden flash of inspiration and used the sugar syrup to stick the two different colours of icing together. She cut the pastry so that she had eighteen rectangles and made the Chantilly cream. Then she ground to a halt.

"I don't know how this all goes together." She chewed her lip as she looked at all the components laid out in front of her. She glanced quickly behind her, trying to see what Milner was doing. It was cheating, but they all did it in the technical – no-one would be able to produce anything half decent without a bit of help. Milner was carefully piping a blob of cream at the corner of one of his pastry rectangles, which, she noticed, was spread with jam. Reassured, she started spreading jam over her rectangles.

* * *

It was hard for Paul to process that this was the last time that he would be sat in front of this table, waiting for Mary and Paul to judge his bake. It had become such a normal part of his weekend routine – he could even imagine what he's be doing the next weekend instead. He had carefully positioned himself in the middle, between Sam and Adam, determined to keep them apart until he'd had a chance to talk to Adam. Sam was nervously jiggling her leg up and down as they waited. She was also chewing on her lip, the skin underneath bright red and raw. Paul gently placed a hand on Sam's jiggling leg and she stopped, turning to face him. He gestured towards his own mouth and Sam released her lip with a guilty expression. Paul shook his head. "That looks sore."

Sam covered her mouth with her hand. "Bad habit" was her muffled reply. "I chew my lip when I'm concentrating."

"Only one more bake to go," he reassured her.

Sam's hand slid away from her mouth, revealing the sore red skin beneath. "Still have to get through this judging first." Paul saw a make-up artist heading their way, probably to sort Sam out.

"You're going to be fine, your _Mille Feuille_ look great." Sam had also seen the make up artist and looked resigned.

"But is the pastry any good?" Paul didn't bother to reply, as the make up artist now hovered in front of Sam, making noises of dismay. She was done just in time for the judges to emerge. Noticing that Sam's leg had started to bob up and down again, Paul carefully took her hand in his. Without looking at him, Sam gripped his hand fiercely.

"Let's start with this one." Paul didn't know why Paul Hollywood always acted like he wasn't going to start with the bake on the left – well their left, Paul Hollywood's right – because he _always_ did, and yet every week he would hesitate and look along the row as if he might start from somewhere else.

First up was Adam's bake. Paul hadn't been paying much attention to what had been going on with Adam, too caught up with his own efforts. Paul and Mary seemed quite scathing, pointing out how the pastry layer's fell apart, and the icing didn't stick to the top, "if they had used some of the sugar syrup, then there wouldn't be a problem." This was news to Paul and he now feared for his own icing.

"Tastes alright, just looks a mess," was Paul Hollywood's final, damning judgement.

Sam's were up next and her grip on Paul's hand became painful. Her pastry was judged to be "good" and the overall taste was praised. When Mary finished with, "those are some good _Mille Feuille_ ," Sam practically melted in relief, her grip become limp. How the judges could even pretend that they didn't know who's bake was who's, Paul didn't know.

Finally, it was his turn. As suspected, his icing was criticised, rightly so as the different coloured stripes simply fell apart, "no sugar syrup to hold them together." His pastry was slightly under baked and Paul Hollywood was not impressed with his filling. "Why go to all the trouble of piping the cream, only to leave big gaps?" Paul rolled his eyes – if he hadn't piped it carefully, or if he had tried to fill every space, then he would have no doubt been criticised for that.

Mary and Paul deliberated for what felt like an excessive amount of time, considering there were only three bakes to consider. They went back and forth, talking just quietly enough to not be properly over heard. Sam's grip on his hand was tight and painful once again.

"In third place… is this one." Paul Hollywood indicated the first bake and Adam raised his hand in the air. "Something went wrong with the pastry."

"Yes," Adam seemed sheepish. "I grated the butter, but then shaped it into a block…" he trailed off and shrugged.

"That explains it then," Paul Hollywood merely nodded. He then moved on. "Right, in second place…" He paused, as if still deliberating. "This one." Paul raised his hand in the air, aware that Sam had let go of his other one and was now covering her mouth with both. "Your pastry was just a little under baked, but otherwise it was some pretty good _Mille Feuille"_

Paul nodded in acceptance. What was he supposed to say? If his pastry was under baked, then it was under baked. Couldn't make slips like that in the final and think to get away with it.

"Finally, in first place is this one." Sam raised her hand unnecessarily. "It was a very good bake, Sam, well done!" Both Paul and Adam applauded Sam, who was flushed with pleasure. Paul then wrapped an arm around her and gave her a squeeze. She leaned into him and laughed.

The cameras were switched off and everything was repositioned for pick-up shots. Paul took the chance to congratulate Sam properly.

"I don't know how I managed that!" Sam was still laughing, covering her mouth with both hands. Paul patted her arm. Sam suddenly frowned and caught at his hand. "Did I do that?" Paul glanced down at his hand and saw the crescent shaped marks left by Sam's nails. He shrugged.

"They'll fade in a bit." Sam looked distraught. "Don't worry about it, you haven't broken the skin." She still looked upset, which only made Paul laugh. "Oh Sam, don't look like that! I've had much worse."

Sam chewed on her lip for a moment, ruining all the good work the make-up artist had done earlier. "I wish you hadn't." Her sincerity made him smile.

"But I have, so don't worry about this," he gestured with his hand. "Look, they are going already." And indeed they were.

* * *

Sam couldn't believe how well this weekend was going. Her signature bake had gone down well and… "First in the technical!" She was practically squealing to the camera. She pressed both hands to her cheeks and shook her head. "I can't believe it!" She really couldn't. Everything seemed to be going right. She caught a glimpse of Adam crossing the lawn in the distance. Well… nearly everything.

She allowed herself to be distracted by the camera for a few more minutes, before they were satisfied with what they had. She gnawed on her bottom lip as she walked away. She needed to do something about Adam. She refused to spend the rest of the weekend cowering away and felt annoyed and embarrassed that she'd allowed herself to be upset this much already. She made up her mind that she would talk to Adam.

She spotted him talking to Milner, and hesitated. She could talk to him later. After dinner. Yes, definitely after dinner. She turned on her heel and headed for the mini bus that would take them back to the hotel.

She was late to dinner, mostly due to the surprising occurrence of a phone call from her parents. They were travelling down the following morning, ready for the tea party that would be taking place while Sam would be baking her final cakes of the competition. Somehow, the tea party element of the final had completely escaped Sam. As her mother was complaining about the folly of having a garden party in British summer time, particularly a summer as wet as this one had been, Sam had the sudden realisation that the tea party usually saw the return of previous contestants. _Would he come?_ Did she want him to come?

Her mother, given free reign to complain by Sam's uncharacteristic silence, did not notice the lack of response or argument, which left Sam to fluctuate wildly between wanting him to come and not wanting him to come. By the time her mother had finally run out of steam, Sam had not come to any conclusion as to what she really wanted and decided to put it out of her mind until she found out one way or the other.

All this soul-searching meant that Sam trailed into dinner as everyone else was finishing. She was shamefully relieved that Adam excused himself as soon as he had finished eating, leaving Milner to sit with her whilst she ate. She got him talking about Edie and smiled to herself at the look on his face. He did a good job of distracting her from her worries about the likelihood of a certain someone turning up the next day, and she forgot completely about her vow to talk to Adam. Right up until dinner was over and she walked into him, quite literally.

"Oh Adam! I'm so sorry!" She covered burning cheeks with her hands. _Why?! Why Adam?_

"That's alright Sam," Adam raised his hands in surrender, a charming smile on his face. _Is he ever not charming?_ Before she could beat a swift retreat, Adam caught hold of her hand. "Sam, could I talk to you."

She was so flustered, both by the fact she had physically bounced off of him and by the fact he was trying to pick up their previous question when she _just wasn't ready,_ that she didn't really know how to answer. She glanced wildly at Milner, who gave her an encouraging smile. "I'll see you in the morning."

 _Traitor!_ She wanted to run after him, but instead screwed up her courage and turned back to Adam, with a smile plastered onto her lips that felt horribly fake. "Lead on."

He smiled back, gratefully, and turned to the bar. He made no attempt to touch her, either with a hand to her back or on her arm, but her posture remained stiff and awkward all the same. Adam gestured to the bar, and whilst some liquid courage sounded good, Sam never did well on alcohol. Instead she walked over to a table tucked in the corner, thinking that it would be more private. It was only when they sat down that she realised that privacy might not be sending out the right message. Adam took the seat opposite and smiled at her. _Always the smile._ It was beginning to grate on her. Just as she was finding the right words to start, Adam beat her to it.

"I fear that I haven't exactly been gentlemanly with you, Sam." He was smiling, but his hands were tightly clasped, and the smile looked strained. "I worry that I've been pushy and making you uncomfortable with my… attentions." Sam gaped at him. He carried on regardless, "I really like you Sam, but I should have backed off as soon as you said no. I'm sorry that I didn't." Sam could only blink in response. "I just wanted to talk to you now and say that I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable, and I'm going to back off."

"Umm…" Sam knew she should say something in response, but her mind was failing to keep up with the direction this conversation was taking. "Thank you?"

Adam beamed at her, so that must have been the correct response. "Thank you, Sam."

He was so sincere, she couldn't help smiling back at him. They were frozen in that moment, smiling at each other before Sam suddenly feared that she might be sending out the wrong message, so she stood abruptly. Adam's smiled faltered, before he too rose and held out his hand. "Friends?" he offered.

Sam took his hand gently, "friends." His hand didn't linger, and he stepped back as soon as she moved, giving her space to leave. She walked out of the bar, and straight into the lift, where she slumped back against the railing. _Oh my god!_ She had built that conversation up in her mind and it had gone so differently – she didn't know how to process it. She was confused, relieved, annoyed – _too many emotions to sort out_. How on earth was she supposed to bake in the final tomorrow? Added to which was her previous dilemma of whether _he_ would be there or not. She let her head fall back against the wall. _Men are stupid_

* * *

The last day. The last ever bake. Well, maybe not the last _ever_ bake, but certainly the last for a good long while. Paul couldn't imagine a week without baking, but he was looking forward to finding out. A week with no baking-related mess, no baking-related washing up, no baking-related testing and tasting. He could finally go savoury again.

"So bakers," Mel clasped her hands in front of her and rocked forward onto her toes. "This is it. The final bake." Her words echoed Paul's thoughts. "No matter what happens today, you should all be incredibly proud of yourselves."

"And no matter what," Sue continued, with a perfectly straight face, "you will all be receiving invitations to the post show party, where Mary will be reprising her famous twerking routine." There was a beat where no reacted, then Mary laughed, and Paul felt some of the tension melt away as he smiled. "What we would like you to make today is a classic, British, cake."

"A single flavoured, but multi-tiered cake," Mel elaborated. "Bells, whistles, jazz hands…" She suited the action to the words. "You know you can do it. you have four hours on the clock." This was really it – Paul could feel his heat pounding. "On your marks…"

"Get set…" Sue smiled.

"BAKE!" as always, Mel and Sue finished their signature line together, and Paul sprang into action. He had an extraordinary amount of fruit to prepare, as well as the cake batter to make. The camera crew were already hovering.

"Yesterday was… I just want to put it behind me," Paul spoke as he rapidly set out the items he would need. "Today it's the Showstopper. What the hell, go for it." And he was. As he proceeded to explain to the judges.

"I love sticky toffee pudding." It perhaps wasn't the best start. Paul Hollywood frowned.

"You are aware this is a cake challenge?" Paul resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but only just.

"Well, I thought I could incorporate the flavours into a cake." Paul Hollywood's eyebrow rose. Paul ignored it and carried on his explanation, "then I started adding more and more fruit, so its…" he shrugged.

"A sticky toffee pudding cake?" Paul Hollywood seemed more than a little sceptical.

"A sticky toffee pudding fruit cake," Paul corrected.

"What are you basing your design on?" Mary was as polite as ever.

"I once visited Japan, Hakkaido to be exact, during the Sapporo Snow Festival. The ice sculptures were amazing." He saw the looks on their faces and hastened to add, "not that I'm going to manage anything like that, but there was a smaller sculpture I saw, of a wave…" He made a swirling motion with his hands to try and demonstrate what he meant. He wasn't sure he'd been successful. "I'm going to try to recreate it using sugar." That got their attention.

"Wait, hang on," Sue interjected, "you're basing your classic British cake on a Japanese ice sculpture?"

Put like that, it sounded a little ridiculous. "Umm, yes?"

Paul Hollywood shook his head, a rueful smile on his face, "good luck with that Paul."

"Thank you, Paul." It had always amused Paul, these little exchanges of 'Pauls'. Something else he was going to miss.

* * *

Sam felt strangely calm today. She had done well on the previous day, which was nice, although that didn't mean it would definitely go well today. Still it had given her a confidence boost. And she could make lemon drizzle cake in her sleep – it was her father's favourite cake, and the first she had ever learnt to bake. It was the decoration that would be a bit trickier.

"I just need to melt the marshmallows in the microwave," she was running as she talked, a large glass bowl full of marshmallows in her hand. She stuck it in the microwave and set it running. "I've always made fondant this way, with marshmallows." She ran back to her work station, ducking to check on her cakes in the oven. "You just melt them down and add icing sugar." She weighed out the icing sugar and then raced back to the beeping microwave. She carried the bowl back to the counter and tipped out the melted marshmallows onto the icing sugar. "Then you knead it together," she was quite breathless by this point. "Ta-dah! Now you have a kind of pliable dough. Marshmallows have all the ingredients of fondant, so why buy it?" Of course, she still needed to colour it. Sam split the dough into three and went in search of the food colouring.

Once the fondant was coloured to her satisfaction, in varying shades of blue, Sam set to work on crafting the decoration for her cakes. She paused only to take her cakes out of the oven. She was surprised to notice that both Paul and Adam were still putting things into the oven. She took a quick glance at her watch – nearly an hour and half had passed. She could only imagine that their decorations were simple enough to be completed in just an hour or so. Not so hers.

* * *

Paul wasn't entirely sure where the time was going, but he was very grateful that it had stopped raining. Wet conditions in the tent meant terrible humidity, and that was the worst condition possible for sugar work. Now that the sun was coming out, he would have better luck at crafting his sculpture. He had the sugar melted, now he just had to figure out how to get it to work. "I've tried this a number of times at home," he said to the camera, "but I've never managed to get it quite how I imagine it. It's always a bit too angular." He started drizzling the melted sugar onto his baking paper template, which was wrapped around a wide cylinder lying on its side. He had coloured it blue, after wrestling the blue food colouring from Sam, who seemed intent on using the whole bottle. _Who would have thought they'd only have one lot of blue food colouring?_

"Edie suggested I use a template and a mould at the same time." He could practically see the producers' eyes light up at the mention of Edie and mentally groaned. He had been trying to keep her out of this, not that she minded, but _he_ very much wanted to keep his private life private as much as possible. "This had the best overall effect, but it is very fiddly." Even as he spoke his hand shook slightly, causing his molten sugar to form a wobbly line. He sighed. "It's going to take a while."

* * *

Sam was carefully rolling out her fondant, starting with the white. She was hoping to create an ombre effect, which meant covering each of the cakes in white and then adding strips of each of the different shades of blue, working from the lightest to the darkest. All of this took time, which was starting to run out. Sam refused to start panicking – that's when it always started to go wrong, when she let herself panic. _Not this time_. She also refused to think about the tea party that had already started outside. 'JUST STICK TO THE HERE AND NOW.' Mr Foyle had sent that message before filming start that morning and Sam was determined to take his advice.

Rolling completed, Sam got to work on assembling the decoration. It was fiddly, 'gluing' each strip on in the right place, using water. It took time, but she was determined to get it perfect, and in the end, she was very pleased with the result. The ombre worked perfectly, the shades of blue varying only slightly from one strip to the next, working their way from palest blue to deep, almost midnight blue on the top of the smallest cake.

Happy with the appearance of the fondant, Sam carefully transferred her cakes from the worktop to the stand. She had the three cakes on different levels, on a subtle curve, so they spiralled upwards. Then she added the birds. They started off black and two dimensional, then they too transitioned in colour and became more 3D, until the very last bird on top of the smallest cake was pure white and fully three dimensional, taking flight. She carefully 'glued' the birds to the side, using royal icing. She had them spiralling up the sides of the cakes, so that they looked like they were breaking free. That was the idea behind it all, breaking free, taking flight, becoming something more.

* * *

Paul was seriously regretting his decoration choice. The sugar work had come out better than any time he had practiced, but his hands shook too much to place it on. He took a moment to breath, trying to steady himself.

"Milner? Are you ok?" Sam's voice was soft and concerned. He opened his eyes to find her stood on the other side of the counter, worry writ large on her face.

"I'm fine, Sam." His voice didn't seem convincing even to himself, and Sam only looked more worried.

"Can I help?" She was already coming around the bench as she spoke.

He smiled at her, touched by her kindness. "No, Sam. You need to concentrate on your own bake."

She gave him a sideways look, mouth pursed. "My bake is fine and if you think I'm going to stand by and let you struggle on with yours, then you've got another thing coming."

He had to smile. She was right, it wasn't in Sam to sit back and let someone struggle when she could help them. "My hands are shaking too much to get the sugar off the mould." Sam nodded and got to work, carefully separating the sugar 'wave' from the cylinder it was wrapped around. She did this for all of his 'waves'. "Thank you, Sam."

She nodded. "Do you need any more help?" He shook his head.

"No, I can manage now." His hands weren't shaking so much now, Sam's intervention had allowed him to relax. Sam grinned and hurried back to her own bench, where Paul could see a very impressive cake taking shape. He began to position the 'waves' around and on top of his cakes.

* * *

"Bakers, you have one minute left!" Sam could hear Adam rushing around as he desperately tried to complete his bake in time. She had already finished and was very pleased with how it had turned out. It looked exactly like she had imagined it, she could only hope it tasted good as well.

"Lady and gentlemen, that's it! Bake Off is over!" There were cheers across the tent and Sam couldn't help but grin with relief. She turned to Milner, who was walking to the space in the middle of the room. She met him in a hug, surprised to feel another set of arms wrap around them both as Adam joined in the hug.

"Thank God, it's over." Milner's whisper against her hair made Sam laugh. Then they were shooed away, to allow for cleaning. Only, unlike normal, they weren't allowed to go and sit outside. Which only served to remind Sam that there was a tea party going on out there, and that _he_ may or may not be there.

"Schrodinger's cat," she murmured to herself.

"What's that?" Milner's voice made her jump and he immediately apologised. She waved him off.

"I was just thinking about the tea party, and who might be there." She saw the considering look on his face, and sort to distract him. "Is Edie coming."

"Yes. Are you worried that Andrew will be there?" She must have pulled a face, because he continued, "or… are you worried that he _won't_ be there?"

She shrugged. "I don't really know."

"Schrodinger's cat," Paul mused. "Until you go outside, he's both there and not there." Sam nodded. "Have you considered what you will do in either scenario?"

"No," Sam shook her head. "I've been trying not to think about it."

Paul gave her a sympathetic look. "You might want to think about it. They're going to be filming every moment," he nodded towards the camera crew.

Sam saw his point. The last thing she wanted was for her unguarded reaction to be broadcast to the nation. She sighed. _I'm just going to have to play it cool._ Yeah right, when had she ever played it cool. Before she could think on it further, they were called back into the tent.

She carried her bake to the front with Sue's help. She stepped back, and looked at her bake with pride. The judges looked it up and down.

"It looks…" Paul Hollywood paused mid-sentence, in that annoying way that tv judges did to create 'tension'. "…very impressive." She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. "It's very professional, and certainly eye-catching."

"The fondant icing is particularly impressive. I have never heard of using marshmallows, but it is a neat trick." Mary was smiling kindly, blue eyes warm. Sam wanted to smile back, but her face felt frozen.

"Let's…" Paul picked up the knife and started slicing into the bottom layer, "…take a slice from each tier, see if they are all the same."

Once the three generous slices were on the plate, both Paul and Mary starting poking at them with their forks. "You can see, they are all evenly baked." Mary spoke as Paul forked a bit of and popped it in his mouth. Then neither spoke as they got to tasting.

There was a long pause, and Sam could feel her heart beating in her throat, threatening to choke her. Then Paul looked up, meeting her squarely in the eye with his intense blue gaze and shook his head. "Oh Sam." Her heart dropped. "…that's stunning." She was so relieved, she tipped her head back and sucked in a deep breath only to release it almost at once in a great huff.

"The lemon flavour comes through well, on every layer." As always, Mary's pronunciation of layer sounded more like lair, which made Sam grin like a crazy person. "The texture of the fondant is perfect."

"The taste of the fondant, with the cake, is just delicious." Mary nodded along with Paul's words.

Mel decided to butt in. "This is exactly what I had always imagined freedom tastes like!" Sam laughed in relief. Then it was over, and she was heading back to her bench with her cakes in a daze. It was actually _over_. Milner gave her a grin and thumbs up, and she smiled back, before slumping onto her stool. _It was over._

* * *

It really couldn't have gone any better, for all of them. Mary and Paul had been most complementary of his sugar work and had expressed pleased surprise at the taste of his sticky toffee pudding fruit cake. He had gone back to his seat with a weight off of his shoulders, meeting Sam's happy grin with one of his own.

Adam had also fared well, with his carrot cake pronounced as the best Paul had ever tasted. Clearly deciding who was going to win would be a difficult decision, but that wasn't a worry of theirs. Nope, all their worries were over for now. Paul was determined to relax. And he was very much looking forward to seeing Edie, even though he had just seen her on Friday. If all went well…

He waited anxiously while the camera crew got into position, wanted to be out of the tent now that the baking was done. He stood in between Sam and Adam, clutching the cake stand, knuckles white with the pressure he was exerting – he was deathly afraid that he was going too drop it before the crew were ready, the damn thing was quite heavy. Just when he thought his arms couldn't take the strain any longer, the crew indicated that they were ready.

"Ok, in three… two… one…" the director counted them down and then they were being waved out into the sunshine. At first, he was blinded by the light, so his only impression was of noise – clapping and cheering. As his eyes adjusted, Paul became aware of the crowd of people gathered round. He caught sight of Edie walking towards him, even as an older couple approached Sam. Edie winked as she caught hold of the other side of his cake stand. "May I help you sir?" He laughed.

Then it all became a blur of sharing his cake, eating some food and talking, talking, so much talking. It was surprisingly good to catch up with some of the earlier competitors – Ian Brook, Hugh Reid, even Violet Davis stopped by to declare his cake "absolutely delish!" before moving on, arm in arm with a handsome stranger.

"Always knew you'd do well." Paul turned at the quiet voice beside him. "Congratulations." Christopher held out his hand and Paul shook it firmly.

"Thank you. I'm… well, just amazed to be here really," Paul scratched the back of his head, unable to keep the very really bemusement out of his voice.

"Don't be." Christopher's mouth turned down at the corners, the way only Christopher's could. "Deserve it."

Paul smiled. He'd missed the other man's directness. "Thank you." He had a sudden thought and looked around.

"Thought I'd leave them to get on with it alone," Paul saw Andrew talking to Sam even as Christopher spoke. "Or, as alone as they can be here."

"I'm surprised the camera crew isn't nearby." Paul turned back just in time to see Christopher's mouth curl up at the corner in a secret smile. For a moment he contemplated asking what Christopher had done to get the cameras to back off, then he decided he just didn't want to know. Glancing back at Sam and Andrew, he noticed that Sam had her arms crossed and Andrew was screwing up his hat in his hands in way that was going to ruin the brim permanently. "Do you think it's going well?" he queried.

Christopher 'hmmmed', chewing on the inside of his cheek before responding, "she's listening to him, which was more than he expected." He shrugged. "He's got a lot to make up for."

Paul nodded, before starting slightly as Edie slipped her hand into his. "You both look very serious," she teased. Paul nodded in Sam and Andrew's direction. "Oh them!" Edie laughed. "They'll be alright."

"How can you be so sure?" Paul asked.

Edie gave him a knowing look. "Sam is the best thing that ever happened to that boy, he's not going to let her go that easily."

"But does she feel the same way about him?" Christopher mused.

Edie peered round Paul to look at him. "Are you dissing your own son, Mr Foyle?"

"Christopher," he corrected, "and no, but he doesn't exactly have a shining record to stand for him."

"Hmmm, true." Paul was suspicious of the sudden grin on Edie's face and the side-long glance she gave him. "But…" she struggled to hide a laugh, "he is very handsome!"

"Hey!" Paul felt obliged to protest, even as he acknowledged the truth of the statement.

"What?" Edie shrugged. "I have eyes. I'm taken, not dead." Paul was mollified by the expression on her face and the way she hugged his arm.

"Too bloody handsome for his own good." Christopher muttered. Paul couldn't help but laugh at that.

"I'm going to hope for the best," Edie announced. That was a good sentiment, Paul thought. _Let's hope for the best._

* * *

Sam was so relieved that it was all over that she greeted her parents with bone crushing hugs – once she had safely deposited her cake, of course. Although they both protested the strength of her hugs, she couldn't help but notice they seemed genuinely proud of her. Her father was grinning, and her mother delicately dabbed at her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief. Sam's mother distributed her cake to anyone who asked (and even some who didn't) with a smile, happy in her hostess role. Her father chatted as only a vicar could. Sam was so transfixed by all this, she failed to notice Mr Foyle's approach until she turned, half-eaten sandwich in hand, to find him shaking her father's hand. She gulped, almost choking on a bite of sandwich. If Mr Foyle was _here_ , then…

"Hello Sam." Oh God. It just wasn't _fair_ how his voice could still make her stomach do a flip-flop. She slowly turned her head to the side, to find Andrew standing then, an uncertain look on his face. He had clearly lost weight, his blue uniform hanging loose on his frame. She frowned.

"I thought you were out of all that?" She closed her eyes briefly in mortification at the abruptness of her question. She hadn't even said hello.

Andrew glanced down at himself, and then back at Sam. "The production people asked if I could wear it, and the RAF were happy with the publicity so…" He gave a one-shouldered shrug – a 'what-can-you-do' gesture.

"Oh." Sam wasn't sure what else she could say to that. "Um… hello, by the way." The corner of Andrew's mouth quirked up and Sam swallowed hard.

"Hello." Sam looked away, looked towards where Mr Foyle was still talking to her father. Perhaps he would come and rescue her? She caught his eye, and he raised his eyebrows and nodded, before moving away. _Maybe not._ "Sam, can we talk?"

She wanted to be petty, wanted to say _we are talking_. But… "alright." It came out stiff and cool, and she wanted to do or say something to soften it but didn't know how.

Andrew chewed the corner of his mouth, a quirk inherited from his father, and held out his hand, indicating that they should move away. Sam went with him, careful not to touch him. She knew he'd noticed her care when his hand fell away, and she wrapped her arms around her middle to keep from reaching for him.

When they were away from the gathering, Sam turned to Andrew. "What would you like to talk about?"

He took off his cap and held it in his hands. "I wanted to apologise." She must have made a noise or a gesture because he shook his head. "I know I phoned, but… you deserve better." He had started to turn his cap round in hands as he spoke, fingers nervously clenching and unclenching. "I am." He looked her straight in the eye. "I am sorry Sam. I treated you really badly, hurt you, and you never deserved that." He licked his lips. "So, I'm sorry."

When she had listened to his apology phone-call, Sam had felt conflict. Angry and happy. Dismissive and grateful. Uncaring and humiliated. But now, she didn't feel conflicted at all.

"Apology accepted." The shocked expression on his face almost made her laugh.

"Just like that?" He was incredulous.

She nodded. "What did you expect?"

He blinked a few times. "Well, I expected to grovel at the very least." Sam did laugh then. "I thought I'd need to get some lavish gifts…" he was smiling now, an expression that suited him much more than the worried one he had been wearing before, "Dinner – many dinners…"

Sam was suddenly cautious. "I forgive you, but…" Andrew's face fell. Sam shook her head. "I'm not going to pick up where we left off."

Andrew's shoulders slumped. "I… don't have a chance at all?"

God, how she wanted to hug him. _Stupid puppy-dog face._ She crossed her arms defensively. "I don't believe in going back to things that didn't work."

Andrew winced. He seemed to be casting around for something to say, screwing up his hat in his hands. "Not even if I grovelled?"

Sam hardened her heart. "I'm not a fan of grovelling."

"Sam…" He looked distraught. "I really want to make it up to you."

"We don't have to have a relationship for you to do that." Her fingers were aching from where she was clutching at her sleeves. "We could just be friends."

Andrew chewed on his lip. "I… can't 'just be friends' with you Sam." He even did the air quotes. "I want to be with you, and I think I would be… very dishonest of me to pretend otherwise."

"So, its all or nothing then." Sam's voice was sharp, she felt cornered.

"No, no!" Andrew held his hands up, battered cap and all. "I just don't want to pretend to be friends when I want more. It would be dishonest." She must have looked confused, because he elaborated. "We would do things together, go to dinner perhaps, and all the time you would think we were friends and I would be looking and hoping for more." He shook his head. "I want us both to be honest about what we want."

"Even if I just want to be friends?" She didn't know if she just wanted to be friends, but his answer seemed important.

"Then I can't do that." He visibly swallowed. "I don't feel just friendship for you Sam, I want more than that." He met her gaze squarely. "and I would lie about that."

Sam took a deep breath, feeling a little like she was stood on a precipice, contemplating jumping off. "What if we try being friends for a while?"

He frowned. "I told you," she cut him off.

"I'm not asking you to pretend to be my friend, I'm asking you to _be_ my friend first." Andrew made an abortive movement towards her, before abruptly stepping back.

"I'm not going to pretend that I don't want more than that Sam. I'm going to keep working on you." The warning, delivered with a quirk of his lips that caused his eyes to crinkle at the corners, made her feel quite warm. Andrew's smile suddenly became a grin. "Besides, I know you'd love to have my dad as your father-in-law."

"Father-in-law?!" Sam laughed incredulously. "Getting a bit ahead of yourself there aren't you?"

Andrew winked. "That's just how serious I am about this." Sam's insides twisted very pleasantly, and she had to look away.

Which was a fortunate thing too, as one of the showrunners was heading their way – presumably they needed some filming. Sam had the sudden realisation that they had been left to have their conversation quite in private, despite being surrounded by people and film crews. She frowned but was distracted by Andrew's hand coming to rest on her lower back, pushing her gently forward. She half turned to look at him.

"They're ready for you." For a moment she didn't know what he meant, but when she turned back towards the approaching showrunner she saw both Milner and Adam standing at the front of a gathered crowd. Her heart started pounding as she realised this meant the results were in. For an hour or so she had forgotten why she was here – now it all came crashing back.

She instinctively took a step back, pressing into Andrew. His chuckle vibrated through her. "Sam. This is it."

"But what if I don't win?" Her voice was small, little-girl like.

"Then," Andrew leaned in to whisper in her ear, "I'll still take you out for dinner." His breath on her ear made her shiver. She resolutely ignored it.

"You will have to take my parents too." He chuckled again.

"Done." He pushed her forward again. "Now go."

She glared at him, betrayed, but was unable to do anything else as the showrunner had caught her hand and was now dragging her away.

* * *

Edie had been happily chattering away about their dinner plans for after the competition was finished. Paul had been attempting to listen, but he was distracted by Edie's smile, and by the question he wanted to ask her. He was waiting for a good opening, but the wait was making him nervous, hands sweating and constantly adjusting his clothing. "…so then I thought we could go dancing."

"What?" Paul was shaken out of his reverie, startled by Edie's suggestion of an activity that was clearly beyond him.

She fixed him with a firm look, hands on her hips. "I knew you weren't listening to me, Paul Milner." He ducked his head, caught out. "Now, out with it. What's distracting you so? And don't say the competition, because I know that isn't true."

Paul licked his lips nervously, resisting the urge to tug at a tie he wasn't wearing. "Well, umm…" Edie's playful look became serious, eyebrows drawing together.

"Oh God! Are you breaking up with me?" Paul's eyes opened wide in shock.

"No, no!" He caught her hand in his. "No, the complete opposite. I want you to move in with me!" He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw – to say it so bluntly! Edie had covered her mouth with her free hand, shocked? Surprised? God forbid - horrified? "I was trying to work out how to ask, I… wanted it to be the right moment…"

Edie suddenly pulled her hand away, but only so that she could throw her arms around his neck. "Yes! Yes! Of course I'll move in with you!"

Paul would have laughed if he wasn't being half strangled. Still, he wrapped his arms around Edie and hugged her back.

Then they were calling for him, and Sam and Adam to come to the front. Paul disentangled himself from Edie and they made their way to the front of the gathering crowd. There was a short pause, whilst a showrunner went to find Sam, who had wandered off with Andrew.

Then the judges and presenters were walking out, and everyone was clapping and cheering again. Paul's heart was beating fast, and his hands were starting to sweat. Once the judges were arranged to everyone's satisfaction, they called for the competitors. Paul's knees shook as he walked forwards, and he gratefully took Sam's hand when she reached for him. She also took Adam's hand, standing in between them. The crowd settled into an unnatural silence, waiting, anticipating. Paul could feel his heartbeat in his throat. Sam gripped his hand tightly.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Sue's voice would have carried easily in the silence, yet she still felt the need to shout. "Before we announce the winner of the Great British Bake Off, I think you'll agree that all of our finalists have been magnificent."

The crowd broke out in cheers and applause. Paul wished they'd just get it all over with.

"Now," Mel voiced was pitched at a far more agreeable level. "It is my very great pleasure to announce, that the winner of the Great British Bake Off is…"

Paul could hardly breathe – in fact, the whole crowd seemed to be holding their breath.

"…Sam!" The whoops of the crowd were defining, as Sam let go of both Milner and Adam to cover her face with her hands in shock. Paul was aware of conflicting emotions, disappointment that was quickly overwhelmed by acute pride and happiness for his friend. He swept her into his arms in a bone crushing hug. He was vaguely aware of Adam hugging them both, but he was more focused on Sam.

"You did it Sam, you did it!" She was laughing and crying at the same time. Then Mary, Paul, Mel and Sue were there, and they were untangled, and Edie was there hugging him for all she was worth.

* * *

Sam was in shock. For the first few seconds after the announcement she hadn't understood, and then she had, and everything had been a blur since. Milner had hugged her, Adam had hugged her, Mary, Paul, Mel, Sue, they had all hugged her. _Then_ her _parents_ had hugged her, and she had been crying by then she knew, but they were happy tears and that was ok.

Sometime after that Mr Foyle had appeared and he had made to shake her hand, but with a courage born of completely and utter happiness at getting something she had wanted so very much, _she_ hugged _him_ , causing him to exclaim "steady on!" which made her laugh.

Finally, Andrew was there grinning, but hesitant all the same. "Congratulations!"

Well, Sam decided. If she was brave enough to hug Mr Foyle, then she was brave enough to hug Andrew. He gave a surprised grunt when she threw her arms around him, but was quick to return the hug, holding on for perhaps a shade too long, but she was too happy to reprimand him. "I did it!" she pulled away to grin at him.

Andrew was grinning back. "I always knew you could!" Other people had said that, but with Andrew it was real – he had supported her weeks ago.

"Thank you." He looked surprised. "Thank you for believing in me."

"Thank _you_ Sam, for not giving up on me." She was suddenly acutely aware that they still had their arms around each other and stepped back. Andrew let her go without comment, although his smile deepened.

She was dragged away to make some comment to camera. Sam didn't really know what to say, she was incoherent with happiness. But she caught Andrew's eye beyond the crew and things just settled into place. "I never thought I could do this. I didn't think I was good enough. I never had been you see." A lump formed in her throat. "But Bake Off has made me realise… if _I_ don't believe in me, then why should anyone else? If _I_ don't think I can do it, then I can't. If _I_ don't think I'm good enough, then I never will be." She swallowed, blinking back more tears. "So, _I'm_ going to believe in _me_. I _can_ do it. I _am_ good enough." She smiled at Andrew, who had been joined by Mr Foyle and Milner. "I _aced_ this!"

* * *

A/N

Well, then. That's it! I hope you're all happy with the ending - or at least not too disappointed. I may or may not add an epilogue, but given my recent track record in getting things written, I wouldn't hold your breath!

Please let me know what you think of this - it was only ever meant to be a short au and it morphed into something bigger. My first ever multi-chapter fic with an actual plot (of sorts).


End file.
